


Will you meet me in the middle?

by TheonlyDan



Category: Blue Jay (2016), Miss Stevens (2016)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Crossover, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Lesbian Sex, Masturbation, raulson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-02-10 23:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonlyDan/pseuds/TheonlyDan
Summary: A changed Miss Stevens bumps into a beautiful stranger outside a coffee shop.Now a finished work.





	1. In which Rachel thinks about if she’s gay or not & gets the feeling of having crushes on high school teachers

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, who thinks that Rachel radiates gay energy in this movie (C' mon, Lily wearing those shirts and talking about lady-kissing? Stop hiding yourself Miss Stevens we all know who you are.)
> 
> Also, it's two in the morning and I've finished Blue Jay. I decided to do a crossover since Miss Stevens and Blue Jay are both so underrated!
> 
> Title based on the lyrics of Sister Golden Hair by America.  
> Rated M for later chapters.

 

_So meaningless, how we all strive to label things._

Coffee mug, pencil, window, sugar cubes. Everything has a name and a purpose.

And who am I? Who is Rachel Stevens?

 

After the trip of accompanying the students, the hollow one-night-stand, cigarette, alcohol and drama, she thinks she  _grows_.

She owes Billy.

That cold night on the terrace, he had forced her to open up. He tore down the walls and let her face her demons. Though she can’t be with him; not in  _that_  way. Rachel knows her boundaries well— too well that she constrains herself within, like an insect frozen in timeless amber.

She’s Billy’s teacher—as if the main reason is only that. It’s because he knows her.  _He sees right through her._

That boy is living beyond his age. He is filled with melancholy and wisdom (no wonder he could evoke such aching emotions when acting).

 

Rachel is not a woman who’s comfortable nor brave enough to lay herself bare in front of others. She is used to facades and beautiful words, metaphors and similes to cover up the ugly scars. She knows all the cruel truth: it’s unhealthy to indulge herself with sorrows and negative emotions, wallowing in this vicious circle.

But now, sitting in this café that offers just the right amount of solitude, she wonders what would Rachel Stevens  _be_  if without these sadnesses.

She has wielded those emotions like weapons to fend off unwanted trouble. She has fallen in love with the heartbreak. She has gotten used to being all by herself.

 

The awkward stroll taking place in that afternoon, jumps into her head, as she recalled their limited time together. Perhaps she has been alone for too long, and at that moment she was suddenly out of breath, desperately to  _prove_  something.

 

So she said she’s not a lesbian.

 

Well, that’s only part of the truth. You can’t blame them for assuming that after she gushed about a girl who kissed her in a play. (She was tipsy though.) She hates labels. But if she needed them, she may be bisexual or pansexual. More than straight, at least.

 

_What the heck am I thinking about my sexuality?_

 

She smirks to her mug and takes a sip of the hot black liquid, bittersweet.

 

***

 

She sees a humorous quote this morning and has every intention to share it with her students: _Life is a soup and I am a fork._

It makes her giggle like a child. She realizes, after merely two weeks, she feels so much better now. It's like she finally loosens the noose around her neck. Still sensitive, the feeling of loss washes over her, choking her. But when it happens, she lets herself go and after she comes back to reality, she feels like a better person every time.

Freer, lighter and—

 

“Excuse me, can I take your order?”

The cute barista with a pixie haircut pulls her back to reality.

“Oh, I’m sorry. The usual.”

“Comin’ right up.”

 

Rachel gave the teen a warm smile. She noticed that the girl blushed slightly, averts her gaze and rushed to her work.

_Adorable._

She looked at her watch and frowned slightly; today is a little late, and she better take off quickly. She has a class at 8. Rachel approaches the counter to inquire about her coffee, but then she stopped abruptly as another woman with sunglasses announces her arrival with the clicking of her heels.

The beautiful woman is probably in her early forties or younger, with golden hair styled casually above her shoulders; she is wearing pantsuits and as she passes her by, Rachel can catch a whiff of expansive perfume. It is only after the gorgeous woman orders the coffee when Rachel realizes she is still staring.

Feeling rude and intrusive, she quickly looks away with heat rising from her cheeks. Thank goodness her coffee arrives just in time. She grabs the hot coffee cup and escapes as quickly as she can. But it is too late, feeling the weight of the blonde’s gaze trailing her all the way out of the shop. She fumbles a little to find her car keys.

 

_Shoot. Where is it?_

“Hey, looking for this?”

A lay-back, relaxed female voice drawls. Upon her car windshield, she curses herself when seeing the reflection of the gorgeous blonde, standing right behind her dangling her keychains.

She whirls around and grins.

“Thanks a lot, stranger.”

Voice lower than usual, she reaches for the keys but the woman whisks it away.

“Nuh-uh.” A mischievous glint appears in the blonde’s eyes; Rachel paused.

_Is she flirting with me?_

“Tell me your name and I’ll give them back to you.”

_Well, aren’t I trying to improve the skills of small-talking?_

“How about…you give those back to me, and I’ll tell you my name say…over coffee?”

Once these words leave her mouth, Rachel feels a trill in her soul; a tingle that is not unpleasant, but it echoes and ripples through her body like magic.

The shorter-blonde quirks her eyebrows with a surprising smirk, and she takes her sunglasses off.

She has those warm, deep, brown chestnut eyes that instantly takes Rachel’s breath away; she doesn’t know what it’s with her this morning, but she knows she’s more than glad to bump into this total stranger. 

_“That’s a deal, Sister golden hair surprise.”_

 


	2. In which Rachel will definitely not call the meet-up date

 

“So, do you come here a lot? I don’t remember seeing you here often…”

After some awkward moments (at least for Rachel), she finally speaks something. The blonde smiles and quirks her eyebrows; Rachel gets lost for wondering what makes this stranger full of energy and why she’s intriguing her so much.

Is it because of the unknown? That they are both attracted to the unknown?

They have exchanged their phone numbers after the day they met, and to Rachel’s surprise, the mysterious woman calls her one day later, airily suggesting they should meet. Rachel remembers how nervous she was when she called.

“Trying to break the habit of settling for lousy coffee, I guess.”

Being reminded, the shorter-haired blonde takes a sip of her macchiato, and Rachel doesn’t know the reason she’d so drown to her for those delicate hands, contrasting with the white porcelain, or the fact the beautiful stranger is leaving lipstick marks when the red lips make the gentlest contact with the rim of the mug.

Rachel tears her eyes away and takes a large sip of her black coffee.

“I used to have coffee at Blue Jay, have you heard of that place?”

Rachel shakes her head as the stranger grins.

“Well, no wonder you don’t know. Their coffee has gone downhill.”

“What’s your name?”

Rachel blurts out and berates herself. _Smooth, Stevens._

“Are you always this intense?” She jokes and tugs a strand of loose lock behind her ear; Rachel shifts in her seat. “Tell me yours first.”

She stares challengingly at Rachel, a faint smile tugging the corner of her mouth; Rachel is suddenly flushed with admiration and adoration towards the stranger because of her confidence and laid-back attitude. If only she can be like her more.

“Rachel. Rachel Stevens.”

“ _Rachel_.” She repeats after her with a glint in her eyes, and Rachel thinks she hasn’t heard her name being said so daintily like this in a long time. It seems that the stranger sees her, and only cares about who she is at this moment. Or maybe it’s the hurriedly-consumed-caffeine making Rachel feel this way. “You do look like a Rachel.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…Do I look like a Rachel?”

Rachel scans the woman; she’s wearing a floral dress today, long-sleeved, and she wears a gold neckless adorning her alabaster neck and collarbone. She’s very put-together, with a casual outfit and minimal makeup, she manages to look immaculate and sharp, strong but not imposing.

It’s the soft, blurry edges of her that interest Rachel. She’s curious about her story.

“Nope…you don’t.”

“I’m Amanda.”

“No last name?”

“Let’s just say…it might be changed soon, and I’m still thinking about it.”

Of course she’s married. But why is she getting a divorce? Rachel has the urge to touch the woman and is horrified to have the thought of it.

“So you are married?”

“Yeah, I hope that’s not a surprise.”

“No, it’s not the first time I got the married-bomb.”

Amanda chuckles at her little joke.

“Married people have this…special thing about them, I can’t say it’s about their posture or the way they talk or the lights in their eyes.” Rachel unintentionally traps herself in the chocolaty-eyes again, and Amanda seems to be lost in a minute when she stares back.

“You’re right.” Amanda shrugs, “I can see you’re probably not married.”

“Is it that obvious?” Rachel gives a smile, half grimacing. “Do I look lonely or what?”

“No, it’s something I see from time to time when I stare at myself. A sort of…sadness.”

Rachel frowns at the sudden change of tune and Amanda clears her throat, laughing a little. “Sorry, no heavy things on a first date. I’m out of the game for too long.”

Rachel’s mind goes blank. _Oh, so this is a date?_

_Or is she joking?_

“Are you married for a long time?”

Her mouth opens on its own accord. Amanda gives her a long look.

“Fifteen years.”

Rachel nods in acknowledgment, being hit with the most powerful desire to know more even if she doesn’t permit herself to break boundaries.

“You’re so…shy. Are you always like this? I can see you want to ask.”

“I guess it’s because I don’t know how to socialize with grownups.” Rachel takes another sip of her drink and smirks, “I’m used to telling kids what to do.”

“So you’re a teacher?”

“Yeah, I teach English.” She makes a face, eliciting a soft chuckle from Amanda, “Still interested in me? I’m just a boring high school English teacher.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s so very _exciting_.” Rachel laughs at the faux dramatic expression Amanda is wearing now, “Imagine all the fantasies when boys are having a crush on you.”

“Why does everyone say that?” Rachel shakes her head in disbelief, still smiling. “Do you have a crush on your teacher?”

“I’m _married_ to one.”

Rachel’s brows jump to her hairline, surprised at how much information Amanda is giving her right now. She cocks her head, studying Rachel’s reaction.

“Umm…well, uh I guess older people have their appeal, men and women.”

After her unfortunate stutter and remaining too much eye contact, Rachel realizes what she means. Mouth slightly agape, she blushes furiously. Amanda for sure is going to tease her.

“I know I’m sweeping you off your feet, aren’t I?”

“You’re just a couple years older than me.”

Amanda smirks at her feeble attempt for a comeback.

“Aww, how flattering. I’m guessing you’re barely thirty.”

Rachel huffs at her perceptiveness.

“Twenty-nine. And you? Thirty-five?”

“I’m turning forty-one this year, dear.”

Rachel stares as if she can magically reverse Amanda’s actual age. She chuckles and looks out of the window.

Rachel is suddenly overwhelmed by her new-found company’s complexity; when the sunshine illuminates her face, the light brings out traces of melancholy and the things beneath the façade.

She’s right. Rachel can see herself in Amanda as well.

 

They finish the coffee in comfortable silence. Neither of them wants to break their newest unsaid-agreement, a fresh development that doesn’t bring forth any unpleasant feeling. Rachel stretches a little in her seat, self-debating if she should ask Amanda-with-no-last-name will there be a second date.

“You said you want to try better coffee, right?”

Amanda jerks her head upwards, a little flushed as if she’s being caught when doing something inappropriate. Rachel is momentarily puzzled by her reaction.

“Yeah, any recommendation?”

“There’s this place, a little smaller but very cozy, so, if you want to go…”

“Sure. How about next week today?”

Rachel hid her disappointment and surprise well; she’s elated for the promise of seeing Amanda, disappointed she’ll have to wait for seven days to see her again.

And absolutely terrified, for how soon she becomes fixated on someone she doesn’t know.

But it’s only excusable because she’s a very _beautiful_ woman.

“It’s a date.”

The words just slip out by themselves before Rachel can scold herself for how improper she’s behaving. However, Amanda smiles at her in the most dazzling way, and it’s all worth it. The nervousness, the humiliation, the sadness.

“Is the place going to be a surprise?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Oh god, she’s actually flirting with this woman. Walking Amanda to her car, she has the wildest urge to bury her nose in the crook of Amanda’s neck and gets lost in her perfume. Amanda chuckles and, as if she knows what’s on her mind, shifts a little away when they reach her car.

“You can pick me up at my doorstep, how about that?”

Her voice is rich and raspier than before; Rachel squints under the sunlight and tugs a strand of her golden lock that constantly gets into her eyes. Amanda watches her every movement, gaze unrelenting.

“Sure. Why not.”

This staring-contest has become a habit for them; Rachel wants to decipher all of the messages in Amanda’s gorgeous browns, while Amanda seems stuck in her struggle and uncloaked longing for another human being.

To be honest, that’s what Rachel is feeling these days--the craving to be with someone without getting your heart broken.

“Until next time then.”

With a cool tilt of Amanda’s head, the revealing emotion is gone as soon as they come. Rachel blinks, smiles unsurely to herself and turns around, trying to make sense of her feelings and, well, _Amanda_.

 

It isn't until two blocks later does she realize why Amanda was blushing when she stretched. Rachel is grateful for how her workouts make her healthy, not the benefit of it when it comes to seduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm "saving" all of the fics I abandoned. Wish me luck.  
> Thanks for coming back to this!


	3. In which they share things they think they wouldn’t

 

On Wednesday night—three days after Amanda went out with her—Rachel debates with herself for approximately four hours on whether she should call Amanda. In classes, fleeting thoughts of the shorter-haired woman crosses her mind, and after she goes home, it is _all_ about Amanda. The remnants of her voice, the way she smiles and even the way she smells, attacks Rachel’s mind ruthlessly until she finally surrenders.

With Vodka in her hand and the absence of the tumbler, she crashes into the couch, letting out an involuntary huff.

She’s just going to ask her where she lives. It’s what they’ve agreed, right?

Rachel chews the bottom of her lip while opening the bottle absentmindedly, and takes a sip of the strong liquor—the dangerous amount in between taking the edge off of and making her sound like a crazy woman.

“Hello?”

“Hey, hi it’s…I’m Rachel.”

Amanda’s voice sounds strangely contorted on the phone; the background music sounds familiar, perhaps a piece of classical piano.

“How’s your day?”

“Tiring. The same.” The line goes quiet for a beat before Rachel sputters, “Could you tell me your address?”

“Whoa, slow down, relax.” Amanda chuckles, sending pleasant waves of warming familiarity, making Rachel aware of how hard she’s clutching the bottle. She softens her grip and takes another sip unconsciously. “What are you doing?”

“I’m…drinking.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, I don’t have many friends to hang with.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol loosening her tongue, or the voice of Amanda, Rachel felt something heavy being lifted from her tense shoulders.

“Rather alone than being with the wrong company.”

The wistfulness is evident in Amanda’s nonchalant reply; Rachel’s heart clenches for unknown reasons before she stops herself from saying lame things like  _I rather be with you instead of the others._

“You’re goddamn right about that.”

“Are you sure teachers are allowed to curse?”

Hearing the laughter coloring Amanda’s tone, she grinned, feeling the tensions dissolve around her shoulder.

“We’re not in a classroom, aren’t we?”

Rachel is aware of the thick, lazy draw of her southern accent, usually appearing after copious amount of liquor.

Or maybe she just wants to see how Amanda will react.

For a moment, it was quiet (she doesn’t know when the music has stopped) except for the audible breathings of Amanda and herself.

“You may want to grab a pen.”

Her voice is deep and hoarse as if she’s repressing something; with the pleasant throb of alcohol in her veins, Rachel hummed and wrote down Amanda’s address, cheerful and giddier than she needs to be.

 

***

 

Parking at the sidewalk ten minutes earlier to their prior agreement, Rachel tries to calm down by wiping her clammy palms on her designer jeans. Yes, she’s dressed up for this special occasion she looks forward to every day of the last week, and for reasons she chooses not to admit.

Checking herself in the mirror for the third time, she decides to wipe off that ridiculously-red lipstick, reapplying colorless lip balm carefully to not ruin her makeup further.

This neighborhood is nestled in a quiet periphery of the city, and Rachel has to admit Amanda has an excellent taste when it comes to houses and the environment. She gets out of the car with thoughts running wild in her head, and is amazed by how fresh the air is in this area; without the smell of gas and urban waste, this place is perfect for jogging and strolling.

“You’re early.”

Rachel jolts out of her reverie and swirls around, instantly sees with a smirking blonde woman, looking too perfect that she seems out of place.

She shrugs and checks her watch.

“You’re early, too.” Rachel gestures her to sit in shotgun, “Hop in.”

Amanda spends some silent time observing the interior of her old car, glances curious but never judgmental.

“Nice neighborhood.”

The coffee browns bore into the lighter hazels for just a little too long, making the younger woman gulp.

“Nice car.”

“It’s old. It was my mother’s.”

“I like nostalgic things.” Throwing a casual glance sideways, Rachel starts the car, wondering too hard if Amanda meant the car, or herself. “That makes the two of us.”

 

***

 

The drive is mostly silent; but of course, she asks why Rachel prefers oldies instead of hipster, indie music she originally presumes she listens to.

“They have souls; I feel like I can relate to them.” Amanda nodded and hummed with agreement, gaze focusing a little razer-like on Rachel for a heartbeat. “How about you? Besides classical pianos.”

“I thought you’d be too drunk to remember that.”

“I wasn’t drunk!”

Amanda chuckles and pokes her thigh, a perfectly natural gesture but somehow rouses something foreignly familiar in Rachel’s chest.

“But you were definitely tipsy.”

“Maybe a little.”

Rachel shrugs again, a little smirk at the corner of her mouth while she tries to not be embarrassed because there is nothing to be ashamed of. Adults drink. It wasn’t like she drunk-dialed her ex or something.

“I like the accent by the way. Where are you from?”

“California. But I had an uncle from Louisiana and we were very close, he taught me how to swear like a sailor and I could never ever let that accent go, not that I want to, though.”

“I’d love to hear you talk like that again.”

Rachel can feel the glint in Amanda’s eyes landing on her, as the thrill of proceeding into a mysterious territory spreads to every corner of her body; the fear of unintentionally sharing too many personal things dissipates like it never exists.

“I hope it doesn’t mean you want to get me drunk.”

“We can save that for our next date.”

 

***

 

“How do you know about this place?”

“Reading blogs.” Rachel grimaces while she pulls over, “Beware as the boring teacher emerges.”

“You’ve come though. It takes a certain amount of courage to try new things.”

“I guess I’m just very picky when it comes to coffee.”

They get out of the car and smile tentatively when their gaze inevitably collides because for a moment it seems too unreal for them. They don’t really know each other, yet here they are.

Amanda hooks her arm into Rachel’s (she secretly notes this is the second time she touches her today) and they walk into the café unhurriedly.

 

“To say this place is warm and cozy is an understatement… it’s so cute! How come I’ve never heard of this place before?”

Amanda takes in all of the wooden furniture, artistic decorations and the abundant sunshine in the small café with wide eyes as Rachel looks at her reaction adoringly.

“Josh and I are friends; he just wants to make good coffee, not good money.”

“How do you know each other?”

Amanda snaps her gaze back to Rachel, a little curious as she watches the old friends interact with merely a genuine smile and a small wave. Josh is a tall, thin, stoic man, with a somber expression that softens when he interacts with Rachel.

“We…dated a bit in high school and college, then we discovered that friendship is what suited us the best. At first we drifted apart after graduation, but years later we sort of bump into each other in my former school. He was giving his kid a ride.”

“Bumping into an ex.”

Amanda softly utters the obvious fact and stares into the void, face suddenly being painted with melancholy and nostalgia. Rachel reads her carefully and bites her tongue.

 _I get it, I totally get it._ She screams on the inside. _But I still want to hear about your story._

“Any…recommendations of this place?”

Too late; she’s missed the golden opportunity to get closer, and unveil this woman who’s filled with flavored secrets. Rachel pauses as she searches the brown eyes; she looks back at her with a beautiful façade without a crack, and an armor Rachel dares not to break.

So she tells her the monotonous, the things she shares with anybody else. Amanda gets the sentiment, Rachel thinks, as she tries a little bit too hard to make this work.

 

***

 

“You don’t have to feel sad because of earlier, you know. You did nothing wrong.”

The silence is intolerable and the impending awkwardness threatens to consume her alive; upon hearing the soft words reflecting what she’s thinking all this time, Rachel grips the steering wheel till her knuckles turn white, suddenly breathless.

“I really want to get to know you, Amanda.” Her mouth moves in its own accord, “And I’m not sure about what I could and what I should.”

“I know.”

Rachel decides to park on the side of the road. Amanda watches her with mild surprise, but doesn’t stop her.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Rachel turns around and faces her at the best angle her position permits her; Amanda trembles a little while she combs her hair to another side cautiously, granting Rachel more access to her beautiful profile. The sun was setting down, and Amanda looks breathtakingly alluring and vulnerable at the same time as the insufficient light brought out the darkness that this moment requires.

“It’s a trigger, an indication of how…unhappy I am. It blew the perfect cover of my marriage. I met my high school could-have-been two weeks ago, and things happened. There was a kiss and it represents so much more than some idiotic impulse. I guess I just want to find what’s forever lost, or what’s never been found.”

Amanda’s voice is throaty; Rachel watches and listens as Amanda let her guards down, eyes being covered with a cloud of moisture. She reaches out and grasps her cool hand, enveloping in her warmer ones. “I’ve stopped taking my meds because I don’t want to feel numb anymore.”

Rachel waits for her to say more, but Amanda is caught up with her emotions, a single tear escaping and streaking down her delicate face.

“I know the feeling.” Amanda jerks her head up and Rachel can tell she’s about to say something sharp, but swallows them all at the last moment when she sees the genuine sympathy on her face. Rachel gently wipes the tear away with her thumb, careful not to smudge Amanda’s flawless makeup, not knowing if she’s crying also. Amanda’s cheekbone feels less sharp than she anticipates them to be, and her skin feels soft and warm under her fingertip.

For the record, it’s not like she’s fantasized about this.

 

“It’s getting dark.”

 

The words are gentle, but they cut into the atmosphere like a cold blade; Rachel backs away abruptly and clears her throat. Her head still feels foggy.

“Right. I should...drive you home.”

 

The rest of the drive is peaceful and less tense. They don’t make attempts at small talks, but from time to time, Amanda will do something sweet like stroking her knuckles when they stop for red lights (and there shall be more of them, for traffic safety, of course), or hums along with a song she knows and throws some careless glances of observation (or adoration) at the long-haired woman beside her.

 

“Same time next week?”

Rachel’s heart thuds in her ears as if all of the touches and glances occurring the last forty minutes aren’t already enough to make her feel like a school-girl again. She tugs a strand of hair behind her ear and looks back at Amanda. She can only see her eyes gleaming in the dark now, the rest of her features are blurred on the edges, making Rachel want to reach out and touch her face, just to make sure she’s real.

“Sure.”

“But next time, it’s _my_ turn.”

Before Rachel can respond or even compute what it means since the urge to lean forward and get closer to Amanda is too strong a distraction, the older woman unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out elegantly, leaving a trail of clean floral scent behind her.

Rachel can do nothing but watch the outline of her silhouette disappear into the darkness, gradually feeling her hands are indeed attached to her, and so are her limbs.

 

It isn’t until ten minutes later, with a crude “shit!” erupting from Rachel’s mouth does she realize, the frenzied, maniacal yearning to get closer to Amanda, is probably because she desperately wants to kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raulson is just so cute.


	4. In which Amanda reaches out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda's POV.

 

It’s going to be a hopeful day.

Or so she tells herself until she believes; it’s a mantra that has taken root for her to face each and every sunrise. Amanda doesn’t know when she’s lost it—the drive to live a happy life, and to be a better person.

 

Was it the time she chose to get rid of the life growing within her, deciding to be strong for two? Maybe she was too young and selfish, but it was for the best. She needed to be selfish for her life to go on smoothly. She needed to block the bullets and thorns from the outside to protect herself and her loved ones.

 

Was it the time she finally disclosed with her husband two weeks after she got the OBGYN report, that because of the teenage-abortion, she could no longer have babies?

 

_“Chris.”_

_The graveness in her shaky tone made the docile lion behind the glasses shot his head up, refocusing his steely blue eyes on Amanda. Chris was twenty years older than she was, yet she thought (and still thinks) the marked lines of years on her husband only made him look more attractive and radiant. He was so free, an unbound spirit that satiated Amanda’s young mind with excitement, blind trust, safety, and love. However, times like this—when Chris bored his eyes on her like she was the only thing he saw—had lost its thrill._

_It made her scared._

_“What’s wrong, hon?”_

_His voice, always calm and reassuring. Since when it sounded half-hearted?_

_Standing on the stairs leading to Chris’ study, she tilted her head to look up to her husband; her tongue felt too thick in her mouth. She was overwhelmed with thoughts: Chris didn’t care that much. Chris didn’t know anything about her. Chris had better things to do than discussing this matter too trivial to him._

_“I can’t anymore.” Her bottom lip trembled, but her tears refused to form in her eyes. Seeing the puzzled look on her beloved husband's face sent a chill down to her spine. He didn’t even know what the fuck she was talking about. “Have babies, I mean.” She swallowed thickly, “But it’s ok, right? I’m glad we didn’t…we don’t want that.”_

_She referred the whole sacred, loving, meaningful business as a simple “that” as if it’d hurt less when she managed to squeeze a grimace to convince Chris everything was fine._

_“Well baby, of course, if that’s what you want. I can always find someone who can help us with it.”_

_It._

_The world crumbled at the moment; Amanda was struck dizzy as she unconsciously grabbed onto the handrail, the coldness of the metal was almost as icy as the tools probing inside of her when she laid in the hard surface of the hospital bed._

_Chris regarded her movement with an odd look, concerned, but didn’t say a word. He knew her well, and he was still nurturing, patient and wonderful; but they were no longer enough._

_“Um, ok. I’ll leave you to your work then.”_

_Amanda managed a smile and turned rigidly with light-headedness, feeling the unrelenting gaze of her husband trailing, burning her all the way down. He was the lion; she was the prey._

 

Was it the time she kissed her ex-love from high school, just wanting to feel the passion and being wanted?

Jim didn’t change much; Amanda saw through him straight away even if he was unrecognizable—twenty-four years had taken a toll on him. He was still lost, emotional, running on his impulse and sadness, making decisions with the lack of considerations. Amanda still read him like an open book.

When they listened to the stupid tape, she marveled at how happy and fun she used to be, and that was why she allowed the night to proceed with something neither of them would admit—she wanted Jim to see her as the girl she was all those years ago, and she didn’t want him to know she had changed. They were happy in the perfect pretend, fooling themselves because it wasn’t true.

Telling Jim how she ultimately altered the dream of rescuing greyhounds, she realized how compliant she’d become; all the caring advice and warm suggestions pouring from her charismatic mentor-slash-husband, she’d lost herself along the way, loving Chris.

Jim reminded her all of the reasons why she fell in love with the boy in one single day—the pureness, the kindness, the fiery sporadic outbursts she also has—they were too similar, Amanda and Jim. Something explosive and passionate in them was destined to blow if they collided. Take the daybreak in the parking lot for example; Jim was the one who successfully made her cry in five years.

 

She isn’t surprised how calm Chris seems when she proposed the idea of separation.

 

“Honey, I love you. If this is how you can feel better, then I’m willing to do it.”

Always so cool, composed with the look of _I’m-ok-but-are-you_ , he’s the god-like figure shining too bright in her life. If those words are uttered elsewhere, Amanda can easily smell how condescending and artificial it is.

But it’s _him_ , the mighty Chris whose perpetual face remains benign and loving, mind intricate beyond her interpretation. She stares at him, and no matter how hard she tries, she feels nothing but frustration, regret, and the killing hollowness.

“I’m sorry.”

She means every word even if they feel foreign on her tongue. Chris only regards her with a small indulgent smile, almost wistful.

 

She finishes packing and flies back to California the next day, staying at one of the vacant houses her parents owned, with absolutely no clue about what she’s going to do, or what it is she’s looking for.

 

Then she bumps into this magical woman named Rachel, who stirs feelings she thinks she’s lost. The connections they share sends rushes to Amanda’s heart—Rachel has qualities Amanda finds maddening endearing: not yet ripened but scarred already, the burden on her shoulder visible when she looks into her entrancingly clear hazels that are supposed to shine with life and happiness.

Instead, she sees an old soul in reflection. Amanda’s not sadistic, finding happiness because someone is as miserable as she is; or that she likes Rachel because she is _very_ attractive (and unmarried; the frequent stutters and adorable blushes all lightens Amanda, making her want to close their gap the sooner the better).

 

It’s very simple; she just wants to get to know another individual being, make a new friend, and maybe they won’t have to be so lonely anymore. Amanda doesn’t want to play manipulation, or try to prove anything to herself when she sees the long-haired-woman clear as day. She doesn’t need that. Why does the sophisticated world always want to make things complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I promise I'll finish this story and give Raulson a happy ending:)


	5. In which Billy knows. And who says teachers aren’t allowed to play dress-up?

 

 

“Miss Stevens…Miss Stevens!”

She shot her head up from a messy pile of essay papers and stares at the thin boy with the signature drooping of his shoulders, now standing in front of her desk with a strange glint in his eyes.

“Oh, Hi Billy. Sorry…” Rachel takes off her glasses swiftly, “I just want to finish this as soon as possible.”

“You work too hard.” He grins, fingers tapping lightly on her table, “All work and no play…”

“How may I help you?”

Rachel no longer feels so naked in front of him; he’s a sensitive kid, and she knows better than to divulge more of herself to someone who’s not tough enough to take her darkness.

Not that she’s thinking about someone for comparison.

“Um, I’m giving you the assignment that’s due next Friday…” Rachel raises her eyebrows as Billy rushes to finish, “I just want to get some extra opinion and advice on this, you know how much I love Salinger and I want to make this perfect.”

Their fingers brush when Billy hands the draft to Rachel; she carefully lays the arranged paper down in the corner of her desk that’s not bombarded with books and folders.

“It’s no surprise to know you’ll like The Catcher in the Rye.” She murmurs and elicits a wide grin from the melancholic boy.

“Are you free on Sunday?”

“Excuse me?”

Rachel bit her lower lip and ignores the nervousness and unease threatening to lick up from her stomach. _No, he is not going to ask me out, is he?_

“Well I was just thinking, we can meet and talk about my report after you go through it.”

The look in his eyes strikes Rachel as terribly innocent and soft, with shades of greenish-hazel that softens the words Rachel’s about to omit.

“Billy…we can’t. It’s inappropriate.”

“Why?” Tongue-tied and mouth slightly agape, Rachel sees Billy regarding her with an expression of a wounded animal. “It’s fine!” He pushes.

“I’m not available on that day. We can discuss your report on Monday.”

Her tone is flat, devoid of emotions and Billy knows It’s settled. For an instant, Rachel almost wants to apologize as the hurt on his face is so transparent, reminding her of the day in the hotel when she brutally told him to go.

“It’s ok, Miss Stevens.” He surprises her with a small sad smile, the compassion warming her as she involuntarily relaxes. “He or she better treat you good.”

“What--?”

But Billy is already gone with his blue hoodie pooling haphazardly off his left shoulder; Rachel remains dumbfounded in her seat, amazed at how well Billy reads her. Heat creeps on her cheeks before she manages to go on with her unfinished tasks after reading the same grammatically-ill sentence five times.

 

***

 

_—Meet me downstairs tonight at 6. Wear something nice. XO_

 

Rachel stares at the notification and wills her breath to even out. She scrolls all of the texts Amanda sent—a bad habit she’s developed recently— from _How’s work today_ with a smiley-face emoji, to _You don’t strike me as a vodka kind of girl_ , to _Wanna have dinner instead of coffee with_ a fucking winking emoji.

She huffs and impatiently loosens the chaotic bun she’s arranged earlier, wishing for the impending headache to disappear with the act. She reconsiders to quit caffeine when she reaches for the instant coffee (pricier than it looks like, but at least it tastes decent) and her mug. Rachel is a caffeine-addict, and she’s been a fool to believe her morning jog can replace the rush brought by the bitter-sweet paradise.

 

Rachel inhales the aroma and sips the hot beverage carefully, as the thought that she’s done absolutely nothing today sinks in, ruining the perfect afternoon.

She’s already picked the outfit for the outing tonight—a flowy, black bohemian-ish dress with simple elegant flowers on it, collars low enough to mean what she wants, the material cladding her figures well with a bonus design of revealing one side of her creamy thigh when she walks. That’s the biggest reason she seldom wears it: Rachel is an animal that lives for herself in solitude. She doesn’t want to wear nice things for others to be the “flatterer”, nor does she want to catch unwanted attention when she’s fine on her own.

Or maybe it’s because she’s been on her own for too long, and it tricks her into self-persuasion, that Rachel Stevens likes being alone.

 

_—What are you going to wear?_

_—You’ll see. I’m not going to spoil the surprise._

_—So I guess you still won’t tell me where_ _we_ _are going?_

_—…Somewhere exciting:)_

 

Rachel stares at the clock; it’s a quarter to six as she decides to check herself in the floor-length mirror again.

She hasn’t worn her makeup this way in a long time—mascara is a must, brows being done carefully, blush, and with subtle eyeliner to make her eyes pop. Rachel hesitates for a minute and thinks _what the hell_ , then applies her lipstick, the color somehow matches well with her high-laced boots which are tobacco brown.

She stares at her reflection, tugs a lock of golden hair behind her ear, and then her gaze drifts down to the bold choice of the rosy shade of lipstick.

_I wonder if it’s going to be ruined..._

_Of course it’s going to be ruined! When you put food in your mouth or what else are you thinking about?_

A buzz bolts her out of the wildest imaginations; Rachel curses and hurries to the intercom.

“Who is it?”

“Hey, it’s Amanda. I know I’m early so if you’re not ready yet, take your time.”

“Oh, hi!” Rachel hates herself for sounding so breathless while Amanda’s voice is sweeter than ever over the machine. “I’m just going to grab my purse.”

“It’s all right. Oh and it’s chilly out here, you may want to grab a coat or something.”

The warmth spreading inside Rachel’s chest miraculously eases her nervousness as her heart no longer pounds in her ears.

“I’ll be down in a sec.”

 

***

 

Rachel can never understand how Amanda can look so stunning in a flower-print, black-and-white blouse casually tucking into a pair of gray slacks; her look completes with a loose overcoat framing her petite body. The cuteness of the top and the elegance of her simple legwear brings out a perfect comparison, highlighting the alluring maturity and femininity of Amanda. Is it because they’re tailored? Or the delicate earrings Amanda has chosen? Is it because of her flawless makeup?

“You’re staring.”

She snaps out of her trance to the amusement-colored-narrative of the subject she was just ogling. Rachel frantically turns around to adjust the hem of her dress, finally finding something to do with her hands.

“Um…you look very beautiful today.” _Can you just not stutter every time you talk?_ “Not that I mean you don’t the other day, I’m just saying,” A gulp that Rachel hopes doesn’t reach Amanda’s ears, but seeing the glee in her pretty brown eyes, she knows Amanda is secretly smirking. “You look great, and this car is nice.”

Oh god. Being an English teacher for years, and sitting beside this fetching woman has instantly reduced her vocabulary to “beautiful” “great” and “nice”.

Nice, Rachel.

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.” She stares at the alabaster, sculptured hands adorned with delicate veins, now confidently resting on the steering wheel; Rachel feels the inevitable blush climbing up her cheeks.

“Where we are going?”

“I already told you. Somewhere exciting.” Amanda grins and shot a side-glance at Rachel, feigning a glare, “And I swear if you’re going to ask _are we there yet_ I’m going to throw your pretty ass out of my car.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Rachel chuckles, “This is a really fancy car.”

They are riding in a BMW RV, not exactly brand new because the smell of new leather has become faint, nearly being replaced by another scent. Perhaps Amanda’s perfume.

“I got this from my sister months ago. She’s being overly-protected by Hector, her husband. He forbids her to do anything dangerous the moment they know she’s expecting, so she lends this to me.”

“Wow…um, congrats. When’s the baby due?”

“Soon. About two more months.” Amanda smiles, somehow the happiness fails to reach her eyes, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Rachel, “She’s pretty pregnant.”

“Do you have any kids?”

“Yes. Chris has two boys with his ex-wife, so when we got married, it’s an instant, loud family-package.” Amanda’s face softens into a fond, wistful expression, “But they’ve both gone to college now.”

Rachel chews the inside of her cheek, wondering if she should make any comment as they stopped for the red light. It sounds that Amanda is close with her blood and find themselves a happy home; besides her medical struggles and the kiss with an ex-boyfriend, what could possibly damage their perfect marriage? Amanda seems so mature and confident, and her husband is…a professor. Teachers aren’t so bad, right?

Oh, hell no. Look at the shag she found herself when she took the children to the competition. That Walter is a complete douchebag.

Rachel realizes they’ve entered another side of the city that she’s once familiar; she tenses and shifts in her seat; Amanda notices the odd reaction as they stop for another red light.

“We’re three blocks from there. You’ve been here before?”

She scans Rachel’s face. Rachel gives a curt nod, rigid. _She doesn’t have to know._

_She doesn’t have to know my mother died in the hospital in this area. She doesn’t have to know she was such a beloved, talented and underrated actress who had performed in a theater here._

“Hey,” A hand reaches out and tugs a strand of hair behind her ear, Rachel jerks her head only to meet a pair of worrying eyes, too warm and chocolatey for their own good. “You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Her voice comes out hushed and shallow, the residual sadness being replaced by another emotion as Amanda rubs small, soothing circles on her shoulder. The fabric of her dress is thin, and Rachel can feel how warm Amanda’s hand is.

A loud honk yanks them out of the moment as the driver behind clearly gets impatient.

“Jesus, will people just fucking chill?”

Amanda grumbles as she shifts the gear; Rachel stares incredulously at her with a grin.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t curse. There’s an authoritative figure in your car.”

Amanda makes some snide remarks about her drinking and swearing the other night; she serves dark, witty comebacks she doesn’t think she’s capable of, making Amanda raise her eyebrows comically, shaking her head in faked disapproval.

The tension melts away, and the night is yet to come.


	6. In which they get tipsy, and a drunken adventure doesn’t sound bad at all

 

The restaurant, to Rachel’s delight, is more private than she’s imagined. The decoration of its exterior is not too showy but classy, matching the indoor designs of the dining hall. Small signs are indicating this isn’t a cheap place—the deliberate decorations to leave the restaurant spacious and comfortable; the lemony light with simple lampshades sets the tone of the atmosphere in calm sentimentalism; the wooden table and smart-chosen, minimalistic paintings, creating reassurance for people to enjoy themselves. Overall, the place doesn’t give Rachel sweaty palms and accelerating-heartbeats.

And she doesn’t feel over-dressed. She lets her gaze travel back to her partner and finds Amanda already looking at her. Her expression can be interpreted in a thousand adjectives—melancholic, satisfied, tired, playful, adoring, all changing from this moment to the next as the glint in her eyes flickers like fire.

Amanda smiles and cocks her head as Rachel blinks, realizing she’s focusing a little too hard on her friend.

“Like this place, huh?”

“I love it.”

 

***

 

“God. I can’t believe you settled for that kind of man. He sounds like some sex-maniac.”

Frowning, Amanda takes an elegant sip of her fifth glass of wine. Rachel shrugs as she reaches for her fourth glass.

“It was a stupid thing to do. I was lonely.”

Rachel smiles wryly, trying to shed the heaviness in her words. The alcohol brings a pleasant shade of red to Amanda’s cheeks, contrasting her golden hair and delicious pale skin—

Wait, _delicious_?

Amanda is seemingly unperturbed by the amount of wine she’s consumed while Rachel feels the alcohol working wonders to her body. She stares at Amanda and worries her lower lip, tasting the lingering flavor of the wine.

_If she were to kiss Amanda now, maybe she’ll taste the same._

_Stop it. Stop behaving like a horny teenager._

“What happens when you chaperoned the kids there that made you, well, sad?”

“Who said I was sad?”

Her tone isn’t sharp nor is she loud, but Amanda must have caught the unease and pain shadowing her at the moment. She’s too acute to people’s emotions.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry—”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

They both know it isn’t as Rachel finishes her glass of wine in one go and locks eyes with the waiter. He approaches their table dutifully, refilling her glass without questions like a professional. Amanda traces the rim of her glass pensively, waiting in patience as she stares at Rachel’s profile.

Rachel looks anywhere but Amanda.

“I crossed the line.” Rachel blurts out after a few beats, the confession surprising them both, “There is this one student, Billy, who’s having trouble with his meds but so fucking talented—” She meets Amanda’s eyes with a humorless smile, daring her to call on the vulgarity of her speech. Instead, she finds Amanda’s finger has stopped ghosting the brim of the glass, and she’s so immersed that she furrows her brows together slightly, with gentle interest lighting her eyes—the details make something buzz in Rachel’s stomach. Or is it the wine doing its work?

“I care about all my students. Billy’s evident need for emotional support at that time somehow strikes a nerve…it’s silly. A few days before the trip, I went to see a play at the local theater here, where my mother used to perform before,” Rachel inhales shakily, momentarily averting her eyes from Amanda’s concerning gaze and takes a sip of her drink. “Before she passed away a year ago. I thought I was fine enough to go to that place but I should’ve known better. It’s all too overwhelming and, it makes me vulnerable in places I shouldn’t be. I was far from my best condition when I took the students to the contest.”

“I’m sorry.” The words are no louder than a whisper; Amanda reaches across the table to cover Rachel’s hands, with sympathy etched on her face. The contact is tentative and genuine as the softest hand caresses Rachel’s knuckles. “It’s unwise of me to bring you here.”

“No, you couldn’t possibly know.” Rachel smiles, the bitterness transparent in her eyes, “And you know I adore this place you picked.”

Amanda bit her lip and smiles. The bashfulness looks foreign on her face but suiting her well, sending a jolt into Rachel’s heart. Before she can categorize the feeling, Rachel finds her mouth moving on its own accord.

“There’s a night on the terrace, in the hotel, where Billy got into my skin again. I broke down and cried in his arms.” Rachel casts her gaze down temporarily as Amanda nods in apprehension, encouraging her to go on, “I was instantly aware of how unprofessional and improper we were behaving, and I cut him off rather brutally. But it was necessary, I couldn’t just…lead him on to _things_ , you know.”

Rachel raises her brows towards Amanda with a faint, suggestive grimace, and Amanda gets what she means by “things”.

“I’m guessing that you two fine now, right?”

“Yes, of course.” Rachel laughs dryly, noticing the sudden tense of Amanda’s hands. Is she worried about some school kid wooing her? Rachel muses as she stares down at their intertwining hands as Amanda follows her gaze, and slowly draws back. “Trust me, being the crush of a high school boy is not as fun as people imagine.”

Amanda smirks.

“So how does he manage gets under your skin?”

“Questions, I guess. He asks me things I don’t feel comfortable to share.”

“Like if you’re married or single?”

Rachel pauses as Amanda sips her wine with a mischief in her eyes. Oh to hell with it.

“You wanna hear the best one yet?” Amanda grins and nods. “He asked me if I were a lesbian.”

As the “l” word rolls off her tongue, Rachel can feel the energy zap and shifts around them; something in Amanda’s eyes darkened as she straightens herself, perching forward to look at Rachel. The attention is flattering and as Amanda takes her sweet time observing her, drinking her sight in. Rachel feels how warm she is when the heat on her cheeks magnifies itself; the motion of Amanda moistening her lips before she speaks doesn’t help Rachel at clearing her head at all.

“If you ask me…” Amanda husks, Rachel shivers as she wets her own lips, mirroring Amanda’s movement. “I’d say you will definitely get the attention of your own sex.”

She blushes profusely, slightly slack-jawed; Rachel’s sure that they are both inebriated at some level. _Damn the woman for saying “sex” in such a seductive way._

“Hmmm...” Rachel cocks her head, determined to get back at Amanda as she lays her words in the thickest southern drawl, “And what makes ya say that?”

Amanda pauses and smirks, finishing her fifth glass of red. Rachel can see the flush painting the column of her neck, and she wonders if she’s successfully flirted, or it’s all the wine’s doing.

“Your accent is showing,” Amanda observes coolly. Rachel blinks, not expecting a response so soon. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

She flashes her a challenging, devilish smile, with a gleam in her eyes that can light up the whole city. Rachel raises her eyebrow and gets the idea—Amanda probably won’t tell her where they’re going neither.

“Sure. Waa not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love Lily Rabe with a Cajun accent?


	7. In which Rachel is totally prepared for the kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the kiss that's finally going to happen.

 

 

The cold night air hit them like a brick wall; Rachel feels the goosebumps climbing from the side of her exposed thighs to her chest despite the thick wool overcoat she’s hiding in. Her head is still thudding to the alcohol with her senses being heightened. She finds Amanda waking up to the drastic temperature difference as well with the high blush remaining on her cheeks.

Amanda catches her staring. Rachel stares unapologetically back, the intensity in her eyes surprising Amanda a little.

“Having second thoughts?”

“Nah. Lead the way.”

Amanda takes her hand like she’s done it a thousand times before, the unexpected act proves itself pleasant as they walk in comfortable silence, heading into the darkness.

Rachel is glad that her hand doesn’t get too clammy this time; Amanda’s hands are cool to hold, as the walk facilitates her blood circulation, making her body warm again.

“Aren’t you scared? Maybe I’m taking you to a black market to sell you to China, and now you’re just blindly following me.”

“Ya wouldn’t. Ya lac me too much to pimp me out.”

“Maybe I am a human-trafficker.”

Rachel hears the smile in Amanda’s words even if their words are slightly blurred in the wind and the occasional sounds of cars passing by.

“Waa is it that ya do? Ya don’t strack me as someone who jus’ gonna sit still and look pretty.”

Amanda giggles, probably because of the way she talks. Rachel doesn’t want to conceal her accent anymore; the smell of her perfume is making Rachel reckless. It’s something floral but not too sweet with a quietly bitter, frosty undertone that sets her scent apart and above.

“I’m running a nonprofit dog rescue team; it’s not big but, at least it’s doing something.”

“That sounds amazin’.” Rachel means it; she finds people with tender spots for animals are usually kind and easy to get along. She finds herself in those people who generate a certain kind of unconditional love and patience. “When didja start?”

“About nine or ten years ago. I studied Literature and dreamt of being some bigshot feminist author, follow the steps of Woolf or Bronte and rebel against the patriarchal society, you know. Teenage dreams.” Rachel’s heart elates in amazement as she hears how Amanda once shared a part of her passion with zeal, “Then I met my husband, who somehow managed to teach architecture  _and_  art. I don’t quite remember what specific courses he offered though…but it was cliché like love at first sight. I took his boring course just to get closer to him.” Rachel doesn’t dare to interrupt her story as she steals a glance at Amanda’s direction, realizing the woefulness not only colored her tone, but etched on her face as well. “I took a lot of advice from him, soon deciding to give up, thinking I wasn’t going anywhere on my original path.”

“Waa? Ya could’ve made somethin’!”

Amanda pauses. Rachel bites her tongue, wondering if she’s unintentionally picked on an unhealed wound. She notices they’re walking onto a green trail, entering a place that looks vaguely like a park, but too small for an actual one. 

Amanda sighs heavily.

“Yeah, maybe I could.” Rachel’s heart sinks in sympathy as Amanda inhales the cold, stinging air to calm her emotions. “I guess we've all lost a part of ourselves when we grow up, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Speaking of which—”

She halts unexpectedly; Rachel gasps and loses her balance to the abrupt stop, blindly reaches for Amanda’s shoulder for support but she is quick to steady her. For a moment they are overwhelmed with the breathless proximity when Amanda clutches her waist, another hand still holding onto hers. Their faces are inches apart as Rachel stares at the flustered woman, gaze involuntarily dropping to her plump, luscious lips. The somberness of their previous conversation has evaporated, being replaced by another kind of intensity. Their breaths mingle for a few beats; all Rachel can think about is the thought of  _kissing Amanda._

“Gosh, you’re tall.” Amanda jokes, the smile being a little rigid as they scurry to break apart. She’s right; with her heeled-boots, she’s still taller than Amanda, who wears a pair of red, sexy, high fuck-me heels.

“Where are we?”

The lights are only sufficient enough for Rachel to make out the outline of a swing, a slide, and a seesaw. They are probably at a miniature park of sorts.

“A place where we can find our childhood dreams.” Amanda deadpans while Rachel stares at her, bewildered. She giggles at her expression, “Give me a hand, would you?” Rachel has no choice but to go along and see what she’s up to. Amanda grabs her hand for support while she takes off her heels, somehow manages to look good while doing it. Amanda is instantly much shorter than Rachel; although they’re no longer at the same eye-level, Rachel doesn’t know why the shorter woman still radiates the energy to maintain a presence that can’t be ignored, making her larger than life. “Oh, this is  _so_  much better. These heels are killing me.”

Rachel chuckles quietly and shifts, not quite accustomed to the abrupt change of the situation. But then Amanda shoots her a broad smile, so alive and cheerful that Rachel has the wildest thought that Amanda is actually younger than she is.

She lets go of her hand and turns around, running towards the swing, “Come and give me a push!”

Already missing the skin on skin contact, Rachel moves toward Amanda, who has already positioned herself on the rubber seat perfectly, 

“Ya gonna break this and the kids will be mad at ya.”

“Shut up.” Amanda giggles, “Push me.”

Rachel grins and finds herself following the request even the situation can’t be more ridiculous than it is. Two adult women playing a swing in this ungodly hour of the night—fascinating.

“Come on! Harder!” Rachel is momentarily startled, then she hurries to follow, cursing herself for imagining if Amanda has said the words in another specific situation. Quickly walking towards the other direction so the swing won’t come back and hit her, Rachel marvels at the wild sight of Amanda, her short blond hair all mussed up in the wind and so fucking c _arefree_. Though she can’t see her as Amanda transforms into a moving blur of light and shadows, Rachel swears that she can hear the smile booming across Amanda.

She settles down on the slide across from the swing so she can observe her. They’ve become the exact opposite—repose and motion, Ying and Yang, ice and fire. Rachel realizes how different they are; while she controls and represses herself, drawing the boundaries to sever whatever unfitting, Amanda runs on passion and impulse under the disguise of age and wisdom. Neither side is wrong. 

But they never learn—people never really grow up.

The dull drumming beneath her skull has faded away as she stares at the sky, and is slightly disappointed that the stars are barely visible. Rachel can hear the sounds of leaves scuttling together, and the faraway streets, indicating that the city has yet to drift to a peaceful slumber.

“No, no.” Rachel's head jerks back at Amanda’s direction for the sudden words; she’s trying to stop herself from swinging as she stares at Rachel. “We can’t have that.”

“Have what?”

Amanda gives up trying to stop the swing by jumping down the device with an annoyed huff. She approaches her in long strides.

“You sinking back in again.”

“Back into what?”  _Sadness?_

Amanda now stands too close before her, looking down with a mischievous smile, but her movements can only be described as gentle when she gets the strayed hair out of her face, tugging them behind her ears. Rachel is glad for the insufficient lighting, so Amanda won’t see the redness on her cheeks and probably all the way to her ears.

And there it is—no matter how different they are fundamentally, connections and understandings are all they need.

“See?” Amanda quietly says while gingerly combing and playing with a lock of her hair. Her eyes are gleaming in the dark, seeing everything Rachel is, “You’re doing that again.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

Rachel doesn’t know what to do or what to think when Amanda is this close, with her electric voice and beautiful face. She stands up rapidly as if she can regain power with her height advantage, but the motion only surprises Amanda as she stumbles backward; this time, Rachel reaches out and pulls her closer.

She miscalculates the gap. 

Their flushed bodies bump into each other, knocking the air out of their lungs. Maybe it’s at this very moment, the truth finally reveals itself of how much they crave intimate physical contact, how sad they are to survive with the obligation to smile through every day, how they shield themselves into being so cold and indifferent. Rachel is afraid she will float away—or is she crashing down? —without the hand she’s holding now; Amanda is the only anchor for her as she stares into those pupil-dilated eyes, too dark to be interpreted while she wonders if she can feel her pulse.

Amanda experimentally uses her free hand to sweep the locks on Rachel’s left shoulder, exposing her delicate neck in the air. The cold is not as exhilarating when dexterous fingers brush the column of her neck, and settles at her jawline. Rachel shudders; she can see the lust and fire in her eyes now, probably mirroring her own; they’re both waiting for something to happen, blue eyes searching the browns, daring for another to make the next move. 

_Prove it._

It still echoes in Rachel’s ears, and the message is transparent on Amanda’s face like a consent. So when she tilts her head to capture her lips at the perfect angle, Amanda meets her halfway.

The kiss is gentle and persistent; Rachel feels the softest lips moving against her own, and hears their heartbeats gradually becomes in sync. The chilly wind blows around them, but they’ve formed a world for themselves of genuine warmth and expectant touches, with a shield of loneliness they no longer need.

They part for air. Rachel doesn’t know how their position ends up with Amanda enveloping her waist, resting her head on her chest; she only knows her heartbeat must be deafening right now, but she doesn’t care. 

She reciprocates the hug with a sigh, and she secretly inhales the scent of Amanda’s shampoo— _if I can have this instead of coffee, I’ll quit._

They stay like that for a minute, serene and unbothered as two become one.

“You know, I hate to break this to you.” Amanda’s voice is muffled on her clavicle; the vibrations make Rachel’s body buzz with the discontent for more. More of Amanda. “But if we don’t start to go back, I’m willing to sell you so I can pay for my parking fee.”

Rachel burst out laughing while they detangle from each other.

“I thought I’ve won your heart to avoid my tragic destiny.”

Amanda chuckles as she walks away—oh, she’s only picking up her heels—and extends a vacant hand.

“You’re not going to wear them?”

“Hell no.” Rachel takes her hand as they walk toward the exit of the playground, with the nervousness and unease ceasing to exist, “Though I know I look too good in them.”

Rachel bites her lip as the inviting images of Amanda wearing nothing but heels while lying on a bed swarm in her head with unprecedented force.

 

“You sure did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a pity that both Miss Stevens and Blue Jay seems so underrated:(


	8. In which they have to face the consequence of crossing the line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light smut ahead!

 

 

When Amanda pulls up to drop Rachel off, it’s already eleven as Rachel tries to wrap her head around why time has flown by so fast.

The tranquil air in the car shifted; during the ride, they exchanged small talks with occasional silences for Rachel to sneak glances at Amanda’s direction. Now, Rachel feels the weight of her gaze following her movement when she unbuckles the seatbelt. Amanda undoes hers as well, presumably finding things to do when neither of them knows how to stop the building tension.

She doesn’t want to leave. Nor does Amanda when Rachel meets her eyes, and finds out how glassy and focused they are at the same time.

“It’s been a wonderful night.” She croaks, moving a little so she can face Amanda better, “Thank you.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

The words set loose the fluid fireworks in Rachel, and it’s naïve for her to think she’s successfully restricted her mind in the last thirty minutes; now, the lustful yearnings and want return tenfold. She envisions lucidly how she will pleasure Amanda in the most sensual way possible, how good she can make her feel, and—

Rachel registers the pain when she finds herself clutching her fist too hard, but the discomfort has managed to drag her out of her reveries. She dares not to see Amanda’s face; Rachel is afraid if she did that, Amanda will find out how needy she is at the moment. She has to leave, now, before the fire she can’t control consumes them both.

Before she’s reached the door handle, a soft hand lands on her arm, firm but not forceful, efficiently stopping her from leaving. Rachel looks back at her, eyes wide, and finds Amanda looking at her with an expression that’s hard to read. She sees the desire and pain mist over her earthy, coffee-brown eyes— _how can she be so spellbinding_ —that breaks her heart, filling her with mysterious rapture at the same time. The hard lines manifest themselves on Amanda’s face due to the poor lighting outside, making her look gaunt and hollow, but it never makes her look more real. Rachel shifts, bewitched, as she reaches out with a trembling hand to cradle Amanda’s face. She relaxes visibly and nuzzles into her touch.

“Rachel…” Her heart misses a beat when Amanda breathlessly utters her name out in the most poetic, gut-wrenching way with her eyes closed. “Why?”

“Hmm?”

Rachel doesn’t know where the eerie calmness comes from. Maybe she always knows how lost Amanda is beneath her façade, and how incapable and weak they both are without their armor.

But doesn’t everyone?

Realizing Amanda can’t give her a coherent response now, she runs her fingers through Amanda’s short silky hair, comforting her with what she’s able to provide. She knows how confused Amanda is— _if you can’t even form a question, how can you find the answer?_

Amanda’s lashes flutter, and when she opens her eyes, a drop of tear runs free, reflecting the scarce light from the empty street. Her face is not so hollow now; Rachel can feel how rich her emotions are, as they connect with hers with an inaudible “click”. She wipes the drop of liquid away, thanking the gods that Amanda permits herself to feel this vulnerable beside her, because she needs this as much as she does. Rachel leans closer to her, wetting her lips a little nervously.

“I know, darling,” Her voice comes out raspy but she can’t care less. She presses a shaky kiss just beneath Amanda’s hairline, “I know.”

She feels the rigidness leaving Amanda’s body as she pulls away slightly, only to give Rachel the most passionate kiss that clears all of the negative thoughts in her head.  _It’s been too long._ Rachel gasps in her mouth but her body knows what she wants; she kisses back in her possessed persona, the animal inside growling with content and begging for more. Amanda moans quietly in her mouth while she lays her hand on her exposed thigh, eliciting a delicious shiver and a hitched breath.  _Yes._ The hand proceeds further up, the nails scraping her thighs make the dull ache between her legs almost unbearable. _More._ Rachel repays the effort by futilely exploring Amanda’s warm, soft, curvy body with her hand, touching her neck, her collarbone, her waist, her lower back.

Before she decides if she should untuck the shirt and attacks her bare flesh, Amanda pulls away abruptly. Dizzy and confused, Rachel stares with her lips still wet and aching from the kiss.

“I’m sorry.” As the words finally sink in her head, she recoils as she registers what Amanda means. Rachel looks away as if she’s being slapped on the face. “No, please.” Amanda reaches for her hand and gives it a light squeeze, but Rachel doesn’t respond to her touch. “I don’t mean that. What I’m saying is,” She gulps when their gazes reconnect, “I feel the same way for you, but—”

“But you’re married. I understand.”

Amanda flinches upon hearing the cold, flat tone despite Rachel is still very much flustered.

“Yes, but no. I’m not saying we can’t, it’s just I…”

She trails off, lost in her thoughts with furrowed brows, searching for words that just won’t come. Rachel forces herself to keep the loss and anger at bay—she knows it’s only human for Amanda to be this way, and if their roles are reversed, Rachel will probably make the same decision.

 

No. She’ll never allow herself to fall this hard for some else from the beginning if she were married. It’s too cruel.

 

“I understand.”

She repeats herself fruitlessly, a little frustrated because the mantra can never magically repair their broken situation. Not that she hasn’t thought about it.

Rachel is hoping that the end will be different.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Amanda murmured, “I know it sounds rich coming from me, but I never want you to be unhappy because of me, it’s just that…I’m too broken,” Her voice cracks, her face in a mournful melancholy, “And selfish, apparently. I shouldn’t burden you further.”

Rachel is tongue-tied. She has a thousand words for rebuttal and another thousand to agree, but her feelings already take control of her.

Sadness has become her.

So, Rachel chooses the easiest way out. She flees.

Hearing the car door shutting behind her is like a cold reminder, making her recall the embarrassment, shame, and bitterness in her life. The coldness outside welcomes her back to reality as dread fills her heart when she thinks about tomorrow. 

But now, she can only march on with tired feet, pretending she’s fine, and so does the world prefer to see her this way.

Amanda doesn’t stop her from leaving either.

 

In the shower, Rachel keeps her mind blank when she sneaks her hand down to her swollen center. _Just to get off. Stop thinking._ In less than a minute, her resolve breaks as images of Amanda appear before her closed eyelids, smiling seductively, her womanly body warm and inviting—

Rachel lets out a guttural moan when her fingers land on her clit; she berates herself for her lustful noise. She can’t remember the last time she’s been this turned on as she manipulates the engorged nub in systematic patterns; waves of pleasure build steadily, too fast since she can’t help but picture Amanda’s long, feminine fingers toying her, and what Amanda looks like between her legs, how she’ll edge Rachel for the release she craves with an evil glint in her eyes. Rachel’s leg quakes but she can’t afford to give up the sweet release she’s been chasing, as she rubs in earnest now, preparing for the impending orgasm while hot water rushes down, caressing her red, tender skin, her nipples standing out for attention.

When she comes, she whimpers and snaps her head back as the pleasure explodes in her lower abdomen; her muscles cramp as she rides on the waves, hips bucking forward involuntarily as her body goes entirely rigid.

The orgasm is long and intense, and when Rachel soothes herself with a finger gingerly massaging the hood, the tiredness sinks in like a ton of bricks, and the buzz brought by the alcohol is gone, like the shampoo suds flowing down her body.

 

Her class isn’t till ten tomorrow so she can still catch six or seven hours of sleep; it’s half-past twelve when Rachel finally makes herself comfortable in her unmade bed with her sweatpants and t-shirt. She takes off her glasses and closes her eyes.

Sleep doesn’t come.

With her mind all foggy and tired, there’s a familiar sensation pressing on her chest; the suffocation is too much to bear as Rachel turns to the other side of her bed and reaches for her phone.

No notifications.

She clicks open the inbox which reads “Mom” on top, not bothering to put her glasses on or turn on the bedside lamp, and begins a routine she’s too familiar with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are welcomed!


	9. In which Rachel starts hitting the gym

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty feels!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight references of the movie Carol(2015).

 

 

“Now, I know what you are trying to achieve here. But if you elaborate on only one angle—that is, the one you’re taking now, to view social injustice, do you know what will happen?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Billie smiles and scratches his head bashfully, “I’ll sound like a smart-ass communist instead of an intellectual.”

“Language.” Rachel warns but she grants herself a grin, “You’re right. Plus, if you can find more angles to talk about it, it’ll flourish your essay and you won’t have to bring in other issues you’re not too passionate about, because they weaken your points. Like mental health in your third body paragraph.” Billie shoots his head up and gives her a sharp look, but Rachel only hands him back the papers like an act of truce. “You did well on this. Keep going and I might consider giving you an A-plus.”

“Really?”

The pure happiness in his tone unties the knot of tension, however brief it’s been. Billy’s eyes gleam, and that sheer energy reminds Rachel exactly why she loves teaching in the first place.

“That is if you’re willing to revise it. With patience.”

He smiles brightly, grabs the papers in his hand as if he couldn’t wait for the revision progress to start, and prepares to leave. Rachel combs her hair out of her face and takes a sip from her Styrofoam cup; the coffee has gone cold but the nutty aftertaste is good enough to not make her queasy.

“Miss Stevens?” She looks up at the teenager and raises her brows, “Are you alright?”

That does make her feel sick about herself. She knows what she looks like in Billy’s eyes: his blonde teacher with her blood-shot eyes, caffeine-dazed, face pale and slightly haggard for the lack of sleep. Rachel takes a large gulp of her drink.

“Sure. I’ll see you on Friday.”

Billy frowns but she doesn’t make further eye contact as she shrugs off his concern. Rachel feels the weight of his gaze relenting for a beat or two, then he gives up and dismisses himself.

When she notices his final absence, she takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose. The weight of the device has left a dent on her skin, and maybe that’s why she’s having a headache despite the copious caffeine intake. The obstinate emptiness and disappointment she knows she shouldn’t have, turn her stomach heavy like a stone, and for a moment, Rachel struggles to breathe as her vision blurs. No, don’t cry. You’re still at work. She knows she can grin and bear it though today. And today’s only Monday of the long week to come.

 

***

 

The earphones roar heavy metallic beats and nonsensical lyrics into her ear as she runs like crazy on the treadmill; rivulets of sweat pour down her neck, accumulating on her chest. Her thin tank top and shorts are already soaked and she feels nothing, only the fact that she’s alive.

Rachel makes her final sprint and gradually slows down, heart pounding louder than the music she picks randomly on the internet. She’s at a local gym where she hasn’t visited for almost two years, and her body is in a pleasant state of balanced soreness since she’s decided to do weights before cardio. To be honest, she doesn’t know why she has the urge to visit this place again; she’s content with jogging around the block, but recently something called for her to just do something. Wild thoughts have occurred in the last three days: should she finally woman-up and get a tattoo she’s meant to have after her mother died? Should she start to write again and finish her half-written romance novel? Should she seek out Billy to stay after school so she can apologize for everything?

Should she contact Amanda?

The last thought makes her stop dead on the treadmill, and she presses the “stop” button just in time before she makes a fool of herself by falling down under suspicious glances.

Rachel is not an honest woman. She treats the world with kindness and tenderness, hoping the world will reciprocate in return, but she’s been disappointed too many times. She tries to figure out why she keeps making the same mistakes, but her excuses never really solve her distress or problems. She’s not honest with herself most of the time, and that’s why she always runs away from endings that are not far from what she’s already deduced.

Amanda, on the other hand, is the kind of woman who’s refreshingly honest with everyone including herself. She’s sharp and witty, but never lacks the gentle edges when she detects discomfort or lies being thrown in her direction. She knows what she wants and acts on her feelings; besides a certain degree of selfishness in her actions, Rachel knows how things go around people like Amanda—she has greater wisdom. Her visions are wider, and she’s braver and more passionate than most people; she knows the rules of the world, and she decides to abide by them, living as happy as she can. She may not have kind intention behind her every action, but she chose to treat Rachel with tenderness. That alone is powerful enough to make Rachel think nonstop about her, psychoanalyzing her, finding excuses for Amanda so she can hurt less.

Comparing her to the last being Rachel slept with would be an insult to both Amanda and her; they both have too much to lose despite their current relationship bares comical resemblance to her last affair with the married teacher. It’s amazing how they share so little things with each other, but still feel the undeniable connection, in their blood, humming through their veins, rushing straight into their heart.

Reaching for the drenched towel she’s hung by the handle, Rachel stops the music on her phone, stumbles when she lands on the ground because her body is momentarily confused, forgetting she’s no longer walking on the treadmill. Fumbling with her playlists, she heads to the vacant area where she can stretch, and settles for Yesterday by The Beatles as she exhales, the familiar music lulls her into an alternate state of calm and nostalgia. As her heartbeat returns to a regular state, two songs have been played and now she’s listening to a cover of I Can’t Make You Love Me by an anonymous artist.

She wonders if she’s fallen in love with Amanda.

As the notions strike in, she inhales a sharp breath; it’s too preposterous yet so tempting that Rachel sets her jaw, feeling a string of her leg’s muscle spasms slightly. Can it happen for someone as ordinary as she is? Is the feeling one-sided?

They’re like the fucking modern version of the movie Carol—Amanda is Carol, and she’s Therese. Except there’s no child custody at stake, only Amanda’s marriage. Rachel’s heart sinks as her body turns rigid. She doesn’t know if Amanda’s in love with her husband (she definitely still loves him; they’ve been married for fifteen years for heaven’s sake), and all of the things they’ve built in the past few weeks can just be a passing amusement for Amanda. Rachel has no home to return after this bleak turnout of the event, no sister who’s willing to give her a car, and no high school romance for her to reignite. This will hurt her more than it hurts Amanda, but Rachel doesn’t know what to feel.

She’s numb and spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Sarah will appear soon (wink


	10. In which Rachel is not prepared for the late-night visit. Or the house-tour.

 

 

It’s been a monotonous week; the only highlights of her days are the times she’s spent in the gym. She feels less unhappy as the intense workout routine she’s developed fills her mind with blissful nothingness. _It’s a Friday night_ , Rachel bites the inside of her cheek and throws her keys in the bowl on the counter. They miss the target, the loud clattering echoes in the quiet room. Rachel huffs, sheds her bags and clothes on the couch, picks up the chain of irritating metals, and roughly drops them into the place where they should be.

She got the chance to meet Amanda because of these.

 _Not again._ Rachel groans, knowing she probably won’t stop thinking about it tonight; everything around her reminds her of that woman. Amanda hasn’t tried to contact her for days—five days since their awkward separation, and Rachel wonders who’ll break the ice as she reaches for the vodka in her liquor cabinet (and after some thought, fetching herself a tumbler; she wants to enjoy the process of getting drunk slowly). To hell with her dirty clothes; she’ll do laundry in the morning before she goes to the café and prepares for her class.

 

Perching comfortably on the sofa and fiddling with the remote (the bags of work-related materials and dirty clothes hidden from her sight), Rachel can’t decide if she wants to binge-watch Game of Thrones or picks rom-com as she turns on the TV, the noise flooding over the notification of a new message. Her phone buzzes in her lap and she checks her screen languidly, the taste of Vodka burning delightfully down her throat, then she pauses for a good few beats as the text fails to be registered.

The vodka turns sour and flavorless in her mouth.

_—Rachel? I’m sorry to have disappeared for a while._

Her hands tremble as she gulps down another mouthful of alcohol, blinking with tears as the beverage burns a little too harsh. After two minutes, another text arrives.

_—Can we talk? I really need to speak to you._

Rachel waits patiently for five minutes before she types with liquid courage.

_—I’m not available right now, what can you possibly want from me?_

She inhaled a sharp breath and rushes to delete them all, replying curtly with thumbs jabbing the screen.

_—What’s the matter?_

There, professional but responsible like an adult. Rachel bites her lip and takes another sip of Vodka. Amanda replies immediately.

_—It’s Chris. I told him we should leave each other. Permanently. Can I call you?_

Rachel gulps as her vision swims. Is she getting a divorce? For herself or Rachel? How about her boys and family?

She calls Amanda after setting her jaw with a balled fist resting on her lap. Amanda picks up immediately.

“Oh Rachel.” Her raspy voice sounds strangely strained and contorted over the phone, but Rachel doesn’t mind. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

“I know.” She summons every ounce of her strength to stay calm and keep the lisp of her tone under control. “Are you alright?”

The line goes dead as they listen to each other’s breaths, heavy and tense. The moment stretches into something bigger than both of them, swallowing and dragging them down into a void, chewing their minds and spitting them out right before the line they draw for themselves.

“Honestly, I—” Amanda finally lets out a watery chuckle, “No, not at all.”

“When did you tell him?”

“The night we, you know,” Rachel lets out a dry laugh in apprehension, “Kissed. I told him after several hours I went home because I couldn’t sleep. We’re in different time zones so he’s just out of the shower and ready for work. Oh, but that doesn’t matter. And he’s…Chris…”

Her voice is tremulous, and with small sniffles barely audible over the phone, Rachel knows she’s crying.

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

Rachel speaks as softly as she can, keeping accusatory at bay; her mouth tastes like sand and her thoughts are incoherent. Hands trembling and becoming too clammy, she puts Amanda on speaker so she can shut the TV off and focus on her voice.

“I was afraid.”

It’s high-pitched and small, like a child’s. The confession breaks Rachel’s heart and shatters something within, clearing her head of irrational thoughts; she knows she’s wrong now. She is not the one hurting the most in this…whatever this relationship is; Amanda has been under the pressure of considering everything at once, and if she decides to make the right decision, it must be hell for her.

If there’s one thing Rachel is proud of herself, then it must be her willingness to cross boundaries. She knows what Amanda’s afraid of— _is divorcing Chris a reckless act, or bravery?_ Amanda is smart enough to make the best decisions with too many factors, and this time is _the_ breakpoint. She needs things other than her selfishness to do the right thing.

“I am drinking alone.” Rachel offers bluntly, the statement surprising them both, “I don’t know what I can do, but you can come over if you want.”

The line goes quiet again except for a soft, rasping sound; Rachel thinks it must be Amanda raking her hair back, the friction causing the soft rustlings. Amanda sighs heavily.

“Thank you. I’ll be there.”

She hangs up, leaving Rachel with her uneven breath and flaming cheeks, staggered.

Fuck, what just happened?

 

In less than thirty minutes—she’s rinsed her mouth so she doesn’t reek of booze— Rachel can hardly feel she’s under the influence of alcohol when she receives a text which simply reads “I’m here”. She throws on a jacket and goes downstairs, clutching her phone like her life depends on it. Amanda’s faraway figure greets her when she opens the door; she looks terribly small and thin in a distance, standing under the dim streetlight beside her car. Amanda jerks her head up in recognition when they lock eyes with one another, and she starts to walk towards Rachel. Her movements are sluggish and erratic like she doesn’t know how to hold her body anymore. As she gets closer, Rachel perceives more details; Amanda’s eyes are puffy and red. Barefaced and hair slightly tussled, she looks otherworldly vulnerable and _broken_ , dressed in jeans and an oversized hoodie. Amanda musters a grimace, catching Rachel taking in her distressed look and unusual appearance.

“Do I really look this horrible without makeup?”

Rachel blinks hard for a few times and opens her mouth for a response, but she’s still shocked to see Amanda in this state; she shakes her head dumbly instead. It puzzles Rachel because she can no longer find the sources of her frustration and anger when she sees her being presented in such a frail image. Wordlessly, she takes Amanda’s cold hand, relaxes when she doesn’t recoil and guides them towards her apartment.

 

“Make yourself comfortable.” She tries not to fidget too much as Amanda regards the small space coolly, interest coloring her exhausted eyes. Rachel shrugs off her jacket and drapes it carelessly on the couch; underneath, she is wearing a simple white t-shirt along with her gray sweatpants. The action steals Amanda’s attention briefly, but her gaze drifts away to observe the living room better.

“Do you want a drink? I’ve got vodka, some old beer frozen for too long and a bottle of whiskey, but I haven’t had the chance to open that up…”

As Rachel drones on, she notices how Amanda’s brows unknit themselves, the pain resting on her face eases out with her posture becomes less rigid. _It’s working_ , she muses, _whatever I’m doing, it’s helping her_.

“…do you want to give me a house-tour first? If you don’t mind, that is.”

Rachel’s brows jump to her hairline and she stammers; a faint smirk paints Amanda’s face as the light in her eyes is gradually restored. Her expression is surprisingly tender, pulling strings of emotion inside Rachel.

“Ok, but it’s pretty messy because I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Stop trying to make me feel guilty coming over!”

Rachel pauses and gulps, searching Amanda's eyes. She finds playfulness and dark heaviness lurking in a distance behind those warm brown eyes, making Amanda a paradoxical creature, her appearance in the house abrupt but not unwelcomed.

“Don’t blame yourself for my tardiness.” Rachel laughs and offers some snarky comments, gesturing Amanda to follow her.

 

“I don’t know you can cook.”

Amanda marvels at her kitchen, noticing the marks and stains that just don’t come off due to frequent usage. Rachel grins.

“I can’t cook; I just make the food edible.”

“Don’t be so modest. There was one time when I almost burn up my own kitchen and I was banned from entering since.”

“I should drag you away then. There’s nothing to see, really, this place is pretty small.”

“But I love your apartment, it’s so warm and, when you come back home you won’t feel like it’s so…empty…” Amanda trails off in her thoughts; Rachel’s heart leaps in her chest because she knows the feeling too well. Sometimes, she wants to scream just to break the ghostly quietness in her house. She restraints her mind from wondering further. _It’s because of Amanda’s presence, her home doesn’t feel so stuffed and dead with loneliness._

“Here’s the study.”

Amanda loiters in as Rachel holds the wooden door; she doesn’t comment on her messy desk as the collection of books on the shelf catches most of her interest. She stops before them, a smile blooming on her face as she touches some of the books’ ridges as if she could connect with them that way.

“You have a microscopic library in here.” Rachel blushes and digs her hand into her pocket, “It’s quite a collection.”

“Books are your best friends.” She shrugs as Amanda picks on one of the books, _One Hundred Year of Solitude_ , “It got me severe nearsightedness though.”

Amanda hums in response, flipping through the pages, tracing the notes Rachel’s left behind; she stares at Amanda’s back, suddenly having the urge to hug her smaller frame and bury her nose in the crook her neck. She lets her nails sink into her palms instead and walks beside her.

“Why aren’t you wearing glasses then?”

Amanda puts the book back slowly; Rachel appreciates her cautiousness.

“I have one, but they’re for reading only. I went to get a LASIK surgery a few years ago, but old habits die hard. The shortsightedness bounced back, but my vision is not far from twenty-twenty.”

She has seldom shared this with other people, but Amanda doesn’t look bored as she scans Rachel’s face as if she can measure her diopters this way.

“That’s ok. I bet you look good wearing glasses.” Before Rachel can fluster appropriately, her audience has walked past her to enter the narrow hallway, “Can I see your bedroom?”

“Sure,” Rachel hurries behind her, knowing there’s only one room left for Amanda’s venturing, “It’s the one down the hall.”

She cringes,  _as if it’s a hall at all_ , but Amanda doesn’t say anything as Rachel opens the door and shows her the room. This time Amanda doesn’t skulk into the spacious place comparing to previous rooms, and Rachel gives herself a big eye-roll: _of course, she’s in someone’s bedroom after all. She’s respecting privacy._

“Why the king-sized bed?”

Amanda turns around and meets her gaze, unfazed with genuine interest; Rachel doesn’t have a convincing answer. She always sleeps on the left side of the bed, and wakes up on the same side as well; she could’ve saved the money.

“It was my first raise as a teacher,” She smiles bashfully, the revealing of plain fact feels surprisingly good when it rolls off her tongue, “I thought, what the hell, I should reward myself with something special.”

“You could’ve just buy yourself another library.”

Amanda grins and waits for Rachel to say something other than smiling too brightly at her.

 

“How do you like the tour?”

Walking towards the living room, their previous tension has unwound into something else; the atmosphere is charged with exultation, a low hum of anticipation, and serenity which emerges after Amanda becomes less distraught. Rachel feels the tension being lifted from her shoulder at the sight of Amanda crash-landing into her couch.

“Hmm, not bad. But you can do better.” Rachel raises her brows and smiles along at Amanda’s smirk, “What were you drinking before I barged in?”

“The usual.”

“Then I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Your wish is my command, your majesty.”

She makes a dramatic curtsy, leaving Amanda giggling behind as she takes out the half-emptied bottle of translucent fluid and glasses. When was the last time she takes out _two_ tumblers?


	11. In which the night progresses out of control

 

 

“How did he react?”

“He…it’s hard to say. As I’ve told you before, he was quite cool and collected about the whole take-a-break-thing a month ago. This time it’s different. He is pretty mad, and he used a lot of things against me so I won’t flee from him.”

“Is it because he is afraid to get a second divorce?”

“Third, actually.” Amanda gulps down her third glass of Vodka and fills herself another one; Rachel hasn’t finished her first, fully immersed in the things Amanda is sharing with her. They are reclining lethargically on the couch, side by side, legs crossed or tugged comfortably under their flushed bodies; they brush against each other from time to time if one of them shifts, and neither of them knows how and when exactly they’ve become sitting so close together. “I’m going to be his third. I didn’t tell you his age, but he’s already sixty-four.”

Rachel nods with sad apprehension and sips her drink, face neutral. Amanda cocks her head and pinches her brows together.

“What’s wrong?”

“You don’t seem surprised. My husband is old enough to be my father.”

“I have no right to judge.” Rachel offers blandly and Amanda crinkles her eyes, “Chris sounds good enough, but what exactly did he say that made you…well, you know.” The pain resting deep on Amanda’s face reemerges itself with a sad twinkle in her eyes, _oh_ _no, don’t cry_ , “Makes you want to come over.” Rachel finishes the sentence in a hushed tone. Amanda sighs and finishes her fourth glass in one go.

“It doesn’t really matter.” She mutters, eyes downcast with gloom as she pours herself another glass, “He knows me too well to attack all the right places.”

“It matters.” The crisp tone clipped in Rachel’s voice cuts into the coziness between them; Amanda perks up and readjusts her position, giving Rachel a heavy look before her eyes become opaque with agony. Rachel instantly softens. “How do you feel?”

Amanda is taken aback by the question; she blinks slowly for a few times before she wets her lips, presumably considering her words. Rachel can hear the cogs running in Amanda’s intelligent yet tipsy brain as she takes in Amanda’s features under the florescent light. She looks so delicate and endearing without makeup, cheeks tinted in a healthy shade pink (or it mainly has to do with the alcohol). Rachel can see how smooth and flawless her skin is. As Amanda traces her tongue over her pink, plump lips, Rachel has the wildest urge to kiss the moisture away along with the distraught, and explore further with her mouth.

“Now? I feel numb and tired.” Her tone is light, but as the weight of the words sinks into the air, it makes the late autumn night quiver and sighs for sensing Amanda’s apparent relief; the truth, however ugly it is, Rachel is grateful to be the receiving end. To _cure_. “I’ve been living in Utopia with my pills and a husband who doesn’t need me.”

“How do you know he doesn’t need you?”

“He wants me, of course. And I want him, too. But our love has changed. Too many things have come together, tethering us until we’re inseparable, and we weren’t exactly the kind of people who are brave enough to let go when we sniff the cracks beneath the surface.” Rachel is afraid of her own thoughts while she chews on her lower lip. _Do you leave him because of me? Do you want me more than him? Why do you want to be with someone who can’t compare with your husband when it comes to giving?_

_Who am I to you? What is this to us?_

“Stop that. You’re doing it again.” Rachel’s eyes snap back to Amanda; she’s now looking at her with a queer expression, intrigued. The sadness clouding in her eyes has temporarily dissipated, being replaced by a glassy surface that swirls with colors of emotions, putting Rachel in a trance. She scoops closer and Rachel can smell the honey-lavender shampoo and Vodka from Amanda when the air stirs. Raising her hand slowly like she’s afraid to scare the younger woman, Amanda uses her index finger and thumb to drag Rachel’s bottom lip out of her teeth. Her touch lingers, gentle and burning, leaving tingles behind after she draws back. “This. It’s a bad habit.”

“Yeah, I know. It’ll even give me cancer.”

Rachel murmurs but she’s too distracted to put anything sardonic in her tone; the feeling is mutual because Amanda fails to ask about the science behind the statement with her eyes glued to Rachel’s lips. Someone clears her throat in the background and Amanda recoils, sitting further away. Rachel realizes the sound is coming from herself and she blushes as if the sheer amount of blood rushing to her face brought by Amanda’s bold gesture is not enough.

“What are we doing?” Rachel’s tone is gentle but the meaning behind represents the opposite; the question that finally establishes the elephant in the room, slashes through the thick tension and warm air, raising goosebumps over their bodies. Amanda winces, the glass of vodka has suddenly become more interesting than the long-haired angel in front of her. “You can’t just do whatever you want with me. I’m sorry for what you’re going through, but I don’t know what you are after.”

“I want to feel whole. I want to be alive.” Amanda chokes, her voice on the edge of cracking, “When I with you, I feel like me again.”

She averts her eyes and takes a long sip of her drink, hands trembling visibly under Rachel’s gaze, not knowing the statement hits Rachel with a wave of dizziness.

“Do you like me, or do you like who you are when being with me?”

The words take off without Rachel’s permission, and she’s certain their night is going to end like this. She doesn’t regret having to push Amanda so hard for what they both need, though.

“How about you?”

Amanda asks quietly to Rachel’s surprise; the good news is, she’s looking at Rachel again, intently. Rachel swallows with her tongue laying flaccidly in her dry mouth. _God, they’re challenging each other, but they’ve both been in their comfort zone far too long._

“I,” She croaks, squirming when the coarse voice reaches her ears, “I really, really like you, Amanda. But this can’t go on if you have…other plans.” _If you want to get back to where you belong. But my heart is already too invested._

“What do you want?”

Rachel closes her eyes, aware of the liquid stinging her eyes brims out with the movement, leaving a trail of tear on her burning cheeks, lowering the temperature of her skin. She half expects a hand to cup her cheek for consolation, and it doesn’t go far from her presumption as a tentative finger attempts to dab her tears away; she flinches from the touch, shifting away from the worried woman in front of her. _She doesn’t want to tell her she may have fallen in love. She can’t._

“I don’t ever want to hurt anybody.” _Even if she hurts herself in the end._ The audacity and honesty in her voice make her strong enough to meet Amanda’s gaze, and she’s surprised to have admitted this out loud; honesty hurts, but in a good way. Amanda stares at her, distant and contemplative, her gaze penetrates her as if Rachel’s shell means nothing to her but her soul. “But you make me want to be selfish.”

Amanda refocuses on her, the undulating fire in her eyes intense, and she wonders if those brown eyes can be more disarming and frightening at the same time. Rachel hasn’t felt this naked before.

“You are too kind for your own good.” Amanda says under her breath, her expression strangely tender and nostalgic, “People like you are too rare to find.” Rachel doesn’t know what to say about the statements that seem to be coming out of the blue, but she sorts of gets what she means; she bites her tongue and waits curiously for Amanda to finish thinking out loud. “I think I need you more than anything else.”

“So I’m what you need, not what you want?”

It’s childish for her to go straight to that, but Amanda doesn’t seem annoyed. Instead, she curls her lips upwards to a fond smile, almost playful but Rachel knows the meanings behind are graver than she can think up this moment.

“We’re playing with fire.” Amanda says quietly, the twinkles in her eyes speak more words. Rachel gulps. “I like the way you make me feel, and I treasure you to an extent that frightens me. Yes, of course I want you. And yes, I like _you_ , this is to answer your previous question about whether I care about how I feel more than you.”

“No…no that’s not what I meant…”

Rachel stutters but she fails to come up with another coherent sentence to voice the question better; Amanda grins at the usual sight of her friend, with the passionate color infusing her cheeks with impossible innocence and energy.

“I know what you mean, sweet, and that’s been crossed out from what we have to worry about tonight.” Rachel’s heart swells at the sound of her new nickname, and lets out an inaudible breath, tremulous, feeling her shoulders relax as Amanda smiles brightly, the strain and distress in her eyes being banished by the enlightened atmosphere in their shared space.

“What else do we have to worry about?”

Finishing what’s left in her tumbler, Rachel reaches for the vodka and winces, muffling a moan as the soreness of her arms and shoulders’ muscles kick in forcedly; she has stayed in the same position for too long, neglecting her body’s protests while being engrossed in the conversation with the older woman. Just how intense were her workouts?

“That.” Rachel raises her brows at Amanda’s perceptiveness and sips her drink. Amanda smirks. “You’ve started going to the gym?”

“Yeah. I might have overworked myself a bit.” Rachel smiles bashfully and is aware of playfulness in Amanda’s eyes has changed into a vortex of a storm, black and consuming. She gulps and nibbles the inside of her cheek, meek under Amanda’s hungry stare. Her heartbeat grows louder and she berates herself for her wandering mind.

 

“Well then, take your shirt off.”


	12. In which Amanda gets the kinks out of her

 

 

Rachel’s jaw drops and stares at Amanda as if she’s turned into a three-headed-alien, but Amanda smiles unapologetically, nonchalant with innocence, contradicting everything in her eyes.

“I was a licensed masseuse. You need it. C’mon, it’s good for your back and shoulder. Chop-chop.”

Not knowing what has gotten into her, she’s already considering Amanda’s words seriously despite she knows how this will probably end, but she’s right: her body is desperately in need of tension-releasing. As for what kind of release, Rachel doesn’t want to find out and add diesel to the fire licking up her belly.

“Can’t you do it with, you know, my top on?”

She finally manages a weak protest; the smirk on Amanda’s face grows wider, and Rachel knows she’s playing a losing game.

“Don’t be so picky. You don’t get to choose.” Amanda’s eyes rake all over her and Rachel’s breath becomes uneven; she wonders how the weight of the gaze can feel like caresses over her skin, powerful than anything she’s never felt before. She clenches her jaw and takes her t-shirt off rather inelegantly, her long blond hair tangling with the clothing. To her surprise, Amanda’s gaze drifts downward once with nothing impure, and she simply snaps her finger, gesturing her bra, “That has to go, too. And you should probably lie down on your belly.” Rachel’s body is warm compares to the room temperature, and her extra-sensitive skin is now tingling with anticipation and alcohol. She turns around and unclasps her bra, fingers clumsy when she feels Amanda’s unrestrained attention on her naked back, gaze sweeping over every inch of her alabaster skin. Then her upper body is entirely naked as she takes off the piece of clothing and discards them on top of the jacket; her pink nipples stand out, making delicious frictions with the couch. Rachel bites her lip and tries not to make any sounds. “I’m going to straddle you for a better angle, is that all right?”

Rachel’s breath hitches ( _Stop it, Rachel, just stop thinking about it. Not everything is about sex_ ) before she musters a meek “Sure.” as she lies down like Amanda’s said, getting her long hair out of her face and sweeps it onto another side. She hears some rustling—presumably Amanda rolling her sleeves up—and the next things she knows, the couch dips with someone sitting on top of her upper rear end, the coarse fabric rubbing her lower back. Rachel squeaks, feeling the warmth seeping from the jean-clad thighs and through her sweatpants.

Amanda giggles.

“Normally sitting on the butt will do. I have to sit here because you’re too tall.”

“You made me sound like a giant.”

Rachel’s voice is muffled as her right cheek is being pressed against the sofa.

“A very _attractive_ giant, nonetheless.”

Before Rachel can retaliate, the warmest, softest hands come into contact with her cool flesh, the touch burning her; Amanda kneads her shoulder blades like no one has done before, dismantling the soreness and pain, spreading ecstatic waves of pleasure coursing through Rachel’s body, the force unstoppable.

“Oh…”

Rachel fails to suppress a guttural moan as her face contorts with satisfaction; then the extreme embarrassment follows suit when the sound reaches her ears. _She sounds like she’s climaxing for fuck’s sake._

Amanda doesn’t pause to comment; her deft hands work steady rhythms of magic on Rachel’s muscles, and she knows of all the right spots as she undoes the knots, casting away the stiffness that has been plaguing Rachel for days.

“God, you’re tense.”

Amanda mutters, her thumbs rubbing tight circles down, guiding her nimble hands towards the middle of Rachel’s sculptured back; Rachel gives a laze smile and hums, relishing in the delightful sensations. Closing her heavy eyelids, her fuzzy mind drifts further and further away; she knows she’s home, safe with Amanda, and the problems haunting her are going to be solved—some are already _being_ fixed…but now she’s been reduced to a peaceful swirl of nothingness as the warm pair of hands massage her back with just the right amount of pressure in utmost accuracy, bringing forth comfort and calmness Rachel hasn’t felt in years.

 

 _It’s too hot._ Rachel breaths uncomfortably and feels the wetness accumulating underneath the coat that’s currently draping over her; she sits up groggily, head clear from the grip of alcohol and inhales sharply when the cool air hits her sweaty body. _Why am I naked?_

It all comes back to her after a beat or two, and as she frantically throws on her shirt, the image of a small woman all curled up, knocks into her eyes. Amanda is asleep on her couch on the other end of the sofa with her hoodie on, presumably for warmth. Rachel curses under her breath as she grabs the coat Amanda has found to cover her when she was asleep, and tiptoes towards the older women. Amanda looks peaceful and young, the bags under her eyes gone; the lines on her face have softened when she’s sleeping, and the edge of her lips has curled upwards ever so slightly.

And it's a crime for Amanda to look so adorable when she’s in deep slumber.

Rachel bites her lip and, as gently as possible, measures the temperature of Amanda’s hands. _Cold_. She drapes the overcoat on her before being washed with guilt. _You are reckless. I can’t believe you fell asleep._

It’s two o’clock in the morning, and her mouth tastes like battery acid. Rachel ties her hair into a messy bun and hesitates before the sleeping form—she can observe this delicate face all night—of her adoration and decides to clean up, pour a glass of water for herself, and checks on Amanda more than necessary if she needed anything. While she goes through the motions, the target of her interest stirs and moans incoherent words. A glass in hand, she rushes towards Amanda, almost tripping over the rug and spilling the water.

Amanda blinks rapidly, adjusting to the bright light and she sits up with a yawn, pushing her hoodie back; Rachel’s heart stops for a beat, and then another as Amanda smiles at her with warm affection, tired and disoriented but so _beautiful_ like she’s still in her dream. Then she knits her brows together, blinking slow and hard for a few times; her dark brown eyes refocus on the long-haired woman before her, the weight of reality sinks into her mind.

“Oh, shit, how long was I out?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s only two in the morning.”

“Shit.” She curses again, and Rachel can’t help but let a fit of hysterical laughter escape her belly. Amanda stares at her incredulously.

“What?”

“It’s cute when you swear.” Amanda rubs her eye with a fist like an infant with a mocking pout. Rachel can’t tell if she’s truly upset by the turnout, but she’s not clear-headed enough to feel bad about it—hell, she’s just woken a few minutes ago. “You couldn’t drunk-drive anyway.” Handing the glass of water to her, Amanda mutters a “Thank you” and takes a careful sip.

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“Oh yeah?”

Rachel grins, raising her brows while taking the glass, now being warmed by Amanda’s hand and hers; Amanda shoots daggers at her, but as Rachel notices footsteps following her towards the kitchen, she smiles and congratulates herself for the new-found familiarity between them. It’s unsurprisingly domestic.

“Do you want to… stay? I don’t have a guest room, evidently, but you can…I mean I can sleep on the couch and you can take the bed.” Putting the glass in the cupboard and drying her hands on the towel rhythmically, Rachel tries her best to stay calm in spite of her heart is hammering inside her chest. “You shouldn’t drive in this hour in the night. A pretty lady like you—” Rachel can’t possibly pick another timing worse than this to meet Amanda’s sparkling eyes, gleaming in the dark with a thousand words unsaid. Her expression is neutral as she patiently waits for Rachel to finish what she’s started, alert and intrigued. “—can attract unnecessary attention.”

Yep, that comes out lame.

“I appreciate your concern.” Amanda wets her lips, mouth slightly ajar for an apparent refusal to Rachel’s offer.

“I won’t take no for an answer otherwise I don’t know how to, you know, return the favor earlier…” Her voice gets quieter towards the end of the sentence as her face grows unbearably hot. Amanda closes her mouth and is amused with a delighted smirk.

“Guess I wasn’t the only one drunk, huh?”

“It’s just so comfy! You performed some kind of witchcraft when you put your hands on me.”

Rachel doesn’t mean to imply anything, but as the shades of color in Amanda’s eyes dim out, being replaced by another hue that suggests what has been interrupted when things got hot and heavy, the late-night lull of limbo is fractured into an atmosphere of quiet stir, as the invisible explosives wait patiently for one of their signals. For any kind of body language as an implication, or invitation.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Her voice is unnaturally upbeat, failing to hide the tremulous rasp that breaks out when she speaks. Rachel unconsciously licks her lips and shifts closer, bot yet invading her personal space but the proximity is still breathlessly intoxicating. Hearing almost audible hitch of Amanda’s breath, she knows this is more than her imagination tricking her brain.

“Um, are you going to show me to your room?”

Yes, she’s sure the feeling is mutual. Amanda _doesn’t_ _stutter_.

 

“Do you have any pajamas I can borrow? I’m not a picky crasher, just so you know.” Rachel closes the door behind her, mentally noting how her hands become so clammy when they are in her bedroom. “Any kind of old t-shirt is fine.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Rachel rushes towards her closet with nervous strides and flings open the wooden door; Amanda watches her frantic movements and walks beside her, peeking into the closet. Rachel reaches for the bottom, and a drawer of neatly-folded clothes comes into view. She feels Amanda’s gaze following her hands as she randomly grabs a gray t-shirt and a pair of black Nike sweatpants she wears now only for sleep or workout.

“Are these ok?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Amanda takes the clothes and walks toward the other direction, her back facing Rachel; to Rachel’s shock, she doesn’t realize Amanda’s going to change right away until she starts to take off her oversized hoodie. She quickly avoided Amanda’s naked back but the image is already being branded in her head. _She’s not wearing a bra this whole night with her._ The thought sends a familiar rush towards her abdomen; Rachel looks at the ground and blushes in horror when she finds her nipples are erected, visibly poking through her thin shirt.

“You can turn around now. You know, I’m not surprised you are not the kind of girl who wears lingerie for bed.”

Staring at the shorter-blonde who’s now in her clothes, Rachel can no longer suppress the dark yearning. She wants this woman to herself, desperately.

And she wants it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a sorry-not-sorry decision to leave you hanging, but smut will be ready next chapter:) Stay tuned!


	13. In which the truth about who's the top is being revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut that finally happens!

 

“Who says I don’t wear that kind of thing?”

Rachel walks forward with a sway too casual, bends over, and collects Amanda’s discarded clothes on the ground; when she stands up, she finds herself merely inches apart from Amanda’s face, but she has no intention to back off. Instead, she closes their gap. Amanda’s gaze wanders from her chest to her face due to their height; her eyes widen as she sees her perky nipple through her transparent shirt—and Rachel swears she’s never witnessed Amanda so flustered. Amanda reaches out a trembling hand and unties the messy bun she did earlier. Golden waves of hair run free, pooling on her shoulder and neck, but Rachel remains her ground with something more than blood and passion coursing through her veins. She’s too preoccupied to analyze her feelings when Amanda tugs a strayed lock behind her ear, expression expectant but content.

“Beautiful.”

Amanda whispers, her starry eyes gleam with hope and adoration; Rachel cranes her neck and looks into Amanda’s eyes, searching for consent, but she’s already leaning forward to meet her lips in the middle. Rachel captures the sweetest lips she’s been dreaming feverishly and lets out a strangled moan; their lips never separate as Rachel drops the clothes she doesn’t know she’s been holding, cups Amanda’s flushed face and ventures her hand underneath her clothing to grab on her slender waist. She can feel waves of goosebumps being raised under her fingertips. Amanda mewls hotly, the sound setting a steady pulse down between her thighs, and Rachel involuntarily gyrates her hips towards Amanda. They moan at the same time, and a thought fleet across Rachel’s mind as she gently pushes Amanda back into her mattress, that if their heartbeats can be in sync—or it is just her heart thumping too loud in her ears.

Amanda looks up at her with anticipation, waiting for a kiss, a touch, a bite—anything that can bring her over the precipice. Rachel feels her heart combusting in her chest at the sight of Amanda waiting to be ravished by her; she lowers herself and kisses her again, this time slow and more like a reassurance. _I’m not going to hurt you._

Amanda reciprocates wholeheartedly, her hands searching and pulling the hem of her shirt, drawing tantalizing circles on Rachel’s naked back and waist; Rachel shivers and arches into the caresses, feeling how electrical when Amanda’s hands are all over her bare skin. Seeing Rachel has no problem welcoming her explorative touches, she moves a smidgen away and sits up, breath labored, impatient for Rachel to get her top off. Rachel’s eyes lock dead with hers, the gaze burning and penetrating as she takes her shirt off, the wild curls temporary creating a fantasy world of a golden blur—but Amanda hasn’t felt so real and alive at this moment. Rachel’s petite breasts are taut and perky, with her rosy buds standing out for attention. Before Amanda has a chance to take them into her mouth, Rachel stops her movement by taking her face into her trembling palms.

“No, I want you first.”

The raspy words set wildfires to her body, and Amanda isn’t sure if she can still function after Rachel’s uncharacteristic fiery statement; mind going into overdrive as Rachel helps her taking her shirt off, Amanda can only allow herself to _feel_.

Rachel pushes her back to the mattress and takes a moment to appreciate the delicate form of this naked woman, panting and shivering under her hungry stare; her heaving chest is flushed red, but Rachel is in no better state as she feels her arousal coating her underwear, body buzzing with the need to touch and be touched. She acts on her desire and starts on nibbling the shell of Amanda’s ear, leaving a hot trail of kisses down the column of her neck. Amanda’s nails sink in her back as she whimpers and tries desperately to get friction, squirming uncomfortably under Rachel, surrendering herself with reckless abandon. Rachel notices her movement and her boldness builds tenfold with lust as she nips and leaves marks on Amanda’s alabaster skin. _Mine_.

“Rachel…” She never knows how her name can sound like music on someone else’s tongue; the neediness and want are transparent in her plea, and Rachel slowly lowers herself to Amanda’s left breast. She can hear the loud anticipation of their heartbeats and labored breaths, so when she takes Amanda’s nipple in her mouth, she doesn’t hold back. Amanda sucks in a sharp breath and arches herself to get more pleasure as Rachel swirls her tongue over the areola and nibbles, eliciting a sharp cry from the older woman. “Yes…” She uses her hand to manipulate Amanda’s right breast, rolling her nipple with her thumb and index finger while she continues to tease her with her mouth; the sensations wind Amanda’s body tight like a string, her hips jerk accordingly as she searches blindly for any kind of relief. Rachel leaves open-mouthed kisses with occasional bites as she travels down to the hem of Amanda’s pants; Amanda’s abdomen muscle twitches involuntarily, and she decides she can’t wait any longer. Rachel huffs and pulls the irritating clothing as Amanda lifts herself with enthusiasm for a better angle for the pants to come off.

“You’re so wet.”

Amanda’s breath gets caught in her throat as the long-haired goddess marvels at her current state, eyes glued to the mess she’s made. The words alone make her body move on its own accord, her hips thrusting into nothing in midair, and Rachel pushes her down with a small smirk while she maneuvers in a better position to cash out her cravings. Rachel becomes the focal point form Amanda, and she forgets how to breath for a second—she has never fathomed Rachel’s expression can possibly turn this primal, undisguised with want and dark lust. She gulps and whimpers.

Then it’s like a dream, a déjà vu, a quick blur, a slow-motioned picture. Rachel tends to the inside of her thighs, caressing, nipping and biting the sensitive skin there; Amanda writhes and moans, the dull throb between her legs painful and unable to be ignored; she can feel how wet she’s become as Rachel gently pushes her legs apart, exposing her evident arousal in the comparably cool air.

“Please…stop teasing me.” Rachel shoots her a devilish stare and blows a stream of hot air on top of her pulsing clit. Amanda cries and tries to jerk her hips upward, but Rachel’s hands hold her down firmly.

“Be patient.”

She presses two quick kisses on either side of her inner thighs; swimming in her blissful world of denied pleasure, Amanda is somehow touched by this small gesture of affection. At this vulnerable moment, her gratitude and love for this woman are more overwhelming than the sheer desire threatening to consume all of her.

 

Wait, _love_?

  
Her train of thoughts are interrupted with the most orgasmic tease when Rachel parts her labia and slowly drags her tongue from her wet slit towards her aching clit; grinding her hips upwards and letting out a guttural cry of pleasure, Amanda snaps her head from one side to next so hard she swears she can hear the protesting of her neck. Rachel chuckles throatily.

“You taste divine.”

In a trance, Amanda is aware of how hot her skin has become and how good Rachel’s silky tongue feels on her body; Rachel teases her opening several times and the tongue is being replaced by a finger. The air in Amanda’s lungs are stolen as Rachel slips not one, but two fingers inside of her entrance with ease. The feeling is more electric than anything she’s ever experienced as she pushes herself onto Rachel’s deft fingers, now creating a steady rhythm that Amanda far from content with.

“God…” She whimpers, resisting the urge to sneak a hand down for more pleasure; Rachel curls her fingers until she finds a sweet spot that makes Amanda whole body spasms with ecstasy. “Yes! Don’t stop…” Rachel doesn’t. Eyes trained on Amanda to monitor her reaction, Rachel starts to draw lazy arbitrary patterns with her tongue on Amanda’s clit. “Oh…” Amanda is slack-jawed with pleasure, momentarily losing her verbal ability as lets out a string of strangled moans as encouragements to spur Rachel on. She keeps an infuriating pace to prolong the climax, the waves of high building steadily; in the calm before the storm, there’s nothing but their labored breaths and the embarrassingly loud echoes of Rachel thrusting into her drenched heat.

“Rachel…please…”

Amanda looks into Rachel’s eyes, and the sight of her working between her leg sends a thrill down her spine, making her tumble and quake to the edge; she must have caught the desperation in her eyes because something hardened in Rachel’s gleaming eyes. Amanda’s mouth goes dry.

She takes out her fingers and before Amanda has a chance to protest, she dips three fingers inside of her, stretching and smarting her in the most heavenly way. “Yes! God, Rachel…”

She’s so full and open at the same time for her; Rachel accelerates her movements, ramming her fingers in and out of her pussy, her juices flowing out of control because of the wild stimulation. The original pattern on her clit is being replaced by frantic circling now, each pressure more delicious than the last; Amanda cries, writhing in sweet torture while Rachel mercilessly takes and takes.

Then she sucks her swollen clit in her mouth and curls her fingers.

The inevitable peak rises and Amanda is being thrown across the edge; Amanda’s world explodes before her eyelids into a technicolor firework and she screams, her walls clamping and tightening around Rachel’s digits. She rides the mind-blowing orgasm out and Rachel lazily laps at her clit, drawing her fingers out of the still sensitive muscles. The action, albeit soothing, elicits a fit of sensual tremor from Amanda.

Rachel sucks and cleanses her fingers, her jaw glistening with Amanda’s essence; Amanda can see how she enjoys the remnant of her flavor, and in her post-orgasmic bliss, Amanda smiles shyly with hooded eyes and whispers for Rachel to join her side. She climbs away and shifts a little awkwardly until she lies down beside her. Amanda runs her hand through Rachel’s hair, brushing the golden curtain from her face to see her better; Rachel is flushed with her pupils dilated, and she nervously avoids her gaze as if she’s not sure whether everything that has happened merely minute ago is true.

“Who knows that you’re a top?”

Amanda teases in a raspy voice, and the tension dissipates. Rachel crinkles her eyes, with a look of “what is that supposed to mean”, but Amanda quickly silences her comeback with a soft kiss, tasting herself in Rachel’s mouth.

The kiss is soon heated with passion because Amanda simply can’t keep her hands to herself; Rachel is so soft and warm and loving. She wants to explore every curve and edge of this magical creature, who has the saddest and the most beautiful blue eyes, with the prettiest smile that lights up her world. Amanda is finally not afraid of someone, who wants nothing from her but only wants to _give_. So, she takes.

knowing Rachel is aching for release, she cups her right breast firmly and takes her nipple with her thumb and index finger, rubbing and adding pressure until Rachel bites her lip to stifle a whimper, snapping her eyes shut with her face scrunched up for pleasure. The sight of Rachel flustered and under her control reignites the fire that’s been put out in Amanda’s belly, but she decides she wants to make Rachel come apart properly.

She also wants to keep her on edge all night. Is that a selfish thing to do?

“You’re so pretty like this.” Amanda murmurs in the crook of Rachel’s neck, her voice muffled and distorted while she presses her knee firmly to Rachel’s hot center, and god—she feels the dampness even Rachel still having her pants on. She groans and grips Amanda’s sweaty back, leaving half-moon marks while she grinds down hotly, her whole body tight and vibrating with energy. “All worked-up and so desperate.”

She mewls as if she’s too far gone to be ashamed of the statement, breath ragged, and with every friction her knee has made with her slick center, Rachel digs her nails deeper into Amanda’s flesh. The pain feels good and Amanda decides to reciprocate; she bites down on Rachel’s tender throat and she gasps loudly and throws her head back, granting Amanda more access to the column of her alabaster neck.

_Kinky. Who’d ever have thought?_

Amanda growls with content and mounts her in a swift motion, her hand on Rachel’s neck, not yet choking but restraining her movements effectively; Rachel is momentarily bewildered, her pupils dilated and her cheeks painted red. Lust has manifested itself transparently on Rachel’s sweet face. _I bet she’s going to taste even sweeter._

Amanda is aware of her own wetness ruining Rachel’s sweatpants as she shifts into a better position, half-straddling and trapping Rachel’s shivering body under her smaller form. Her skin is hot enough to burn; Amanda suckles on her rosy buds hungrily, treating her nipples with utmost attention, savoring the taste and the god-forsaken sounds that come out of Rachel’s mouth—every moan, mewl and gasp alone can make the angel fall from heaven willingly. She writhes under her, muttering incoherent pleas as Amanda deliberately slows down, and chuckles against Rachel’s stomach; the vibrations echo and ripples through their bodies, bounding them together and enhances the suppressed emotions that have been simmering since they’ve reached a common ground tonight; the knowledge of “don’t ask, don’t tell” seems to loosen its grip on both women as Rachel’s wetness sinks through and leaving a visibly damp spot on her pants, indicating her desperate ache for release.

But they both are getting closer to the edge. The breaking point.

Amanda severs herself from the bond to give Rachel more pleasure; it’s the only thing she cares right now. _Rachel becomes her universe._ She tugs on her pants and chuckles delightfully when Rachel frantically lifts her hips, kicking the offending clothing away, and _god she’s wet._ Amanda’s mouth waters at the sight of Rachel’s glistening folds, her frizzy pubic hair hasn’t been able to prevent the wetness from dripping down her thighs; a heady scent that distinctively smells like Rachel attacks her sense, making Amanda dizzy with exuberance. To placate her sudden rush of animalistic desire to taste Rachel’s arousal right away, Amanda sinks her teeth down a tender spot close to her center; Rachel hips jolt as her mouth opens up for a cry, the sensation too intense for any voice to escape. She relished at the sight of Rachel, flushed desperate and glassy-eyed as Amanda soothes over the red mark by peppering kisses on the epic of her thigh. She teases her mercilessly by devouring the softest flesh she’s ever taste—her pale inner thighs, her quivering abdomen, the spot just above her pubic bone. Rachel lets out a noise that’s more like a whine than a growl as she takes a fistful of Amanda’s hair, firm but not enough to hurt, wanting to keep Amanda at the place where she wants her to be.

“So impatient.” Amanda teases with a smirk; the smirk soon fades into a neutral expression as she perceives how Rachel instantly loosens her grip, flabbergasted as if she can’t comprehend her own motion. Rachel quickly averts her gaze with something vulnerable clouding her eyes, nibbling her lower lip with uncertainty. Enchanted as an overwhelming amount of tender affection flows into her system, Amanda watches the lemon light reflected by her long golden hair flicker as she climbs up and lowers herself; they both inhale sharply as their pebbled nipples rub against each other, and she feels her arousal dripping on Rachel’s lower stomach. She cups Rachel’s cheeks in her palms and plants a soft kiss on her forehead. “Hey. Look at me.” To her relief, Rachel blinks and meets her eyes; though a little begrudged, her lip is no longer being tucked between her teeth. “Better.” Amanda presses her lips on Rachel’s and smiles through the kiss, never quitting at holding Rachel’s burning cheeks in her hands as Rachel reciprocates sweetly; she’s too precious a person to let go. Rachel is her anchor now, while everything else is changing and falling apart; with the world cold enough to kill, she knows this long-haired being will always be here for her, warm, inviting and unjudging. And there will always be an invisible and powerful bond they share like nobody else, tethering them in unfathomable ways, writing their destiny together whether they want it or not.

But that’s the problem. Rachel wants Rachel so much that it scares her—what was the life she had been in until she meets this woman? Just how deep is her void? Was she always using her husband as a tool to fill up the growing emptiness, to prevent herself from being alone with her thoughts, and truly live her own life?

“Amanda?” She snaps out of her thoughts and finds Rachel looking at her with concern; there is moisture on her face but Rachel is not crying.

She is.

Rachel doesn’t seem surprised; she brushes the cooling liquid off Amanda’s face and waits. “Are you all right?” Amanda nods and offers a weak smile, pecking a chaste kiss on the corner of Rachel’s mouth.

“I’m sorry.” She mutters as she cradles Rachel’s face tenderly like she’s made of fleeting smoke, and she can’t bear the possibility that Rachel can evaporate any minute.

 

She also can’t bear the heavy fact that she may have fallen in love with Rachel.

 

Running her hand through the silk-like hair, Amanda gets trapped in an eternal awe of how mature and statuesque Rachel has become—the high blush tinting her sharp cheekbones brings out an air of royalty, the soft look in her eyes, often mistaken as timidity and shyness, is Rachel’s kindness and openheartedness for this world. The soft expression that makes her angelic face glow with halo, is her weapon and armor to face the truth. She protects herself and her naiveté behind it because it hurts too much, not for herself but more about the people around her; Rachel puts a safe distance with everything else because she’ll ultimately care too much.

Amanda is beginning to think that the world isn’t worthy of her kindness and love. _And you think you’re worthy then?_

Rachel’s paradoxical qualities make her endearing and bewitching because Amanda can swear: there is scarcely anyone like Rachel who remains innocent and clever with time elapsing unsympathetically.

The situation has been completely reversed—so is the dawning reality. She’s never the one who needs saving. Amanda is.

“It’s ok.” Rachel brushes her steady thumb over her lower lip, the gesture amorous and soothing. _Why the hell am I trembling?_ “Do you want to rest for now?”

“No!” The vehement rebuttal takes Rachel by surprise as Amanda nearly shouts at her face. Amanda is attacked by a pang of guilt: _I should be eating out this gorgeous lady laid in front of me and give her the orgasm of a lifetime; instead, I’m wallowing in self-pity…what the fuck?_ “Sorry.” Amanda cringes, “I know I’ve disappeared on you for a while. Can I still make it up to you?”

Rachel chuckles inaudibly, the laughter making her eyes twinkle and lifting the tension in the room. Seeing her like this has cast away all of Amanda’s doubts and worries.

“I hold no objection to your offer.”

She whispers, voice low and rasp. The temporary yet necessary lull occupies the air of their proximity, allowing Amanda’s eyes to turn ten shades darker; Rachel visibly swallows, inhales slowly and exhales upon seeing the change of her persona.

“In that case…” Amanda languidly drags her nail across Rachel’s chest down to her abdomen, watching the rise and fall of the goosebumps on the fairest skin, and dips into the pool of wetness. Rachel’s eyes widen for the unexpected stimulation as a breath hitch in her throat; Amanda ghosts her fingers only at the entrance of Rachel’s slick center, the pressure too light and more like torture than caress. Breath labored, Rachel knits her brows together, knowing the ache between her legs will not abate unless Amanda grants her the release she wants. Amanda brings her glistening fingers close to their faces.

“Open your mouth.” Her tone is soft but demanding with no grounds left to bargain, and Rachel takes in her fingers obediently and sucks her clean. Amanda hums with the familiar ache building in her lower abdomen as Rachel’s warm mouth encloses on her digits and caresses them with her velvet tongue, then releases her fingers with a “pop”. “What a good girl you are.” That obviously does it for Rachel; Amanda covers her whimper with a searing kiss, and the intertwinement ends with a passionate twist as Amanda drags Rachel’s lower lip with her teeth, and release it before she makes her bleed with a hungry look in her eyes. “You taste so fucking good.”

Rachel looks at her with her swollen lips and flaming cheeks, eyes unfocused with lust with her breath jagged. Amanda sits up, the movement causing transient friction she craves, but she can’t care less about herself right now.

“I want to look at you when you come.” Rachel licks her lips at the statement and the possessive gesture of Amanda’s left hand settling on her delicate throat; barely putting pressure on the column of her neck but enough to hold her still, Amanda’s consuming gaze bores into her as she experimentally sinks one finger into Rachel’s wetness, and ease the digit inside. The effect is immediate as Rachel rocks her body onto her finger, widening her legs for the intrusion and lets out a small yet sensual grunt. “Do you want more fingers?” Rachel nods frantically while squirming uncomfortably, the anticipation choking her more than the hand on her neck. Amanda slowly adds another finger, stretching the slickness pleasantly as Rachel purrs, her walls of muscle fluttering around her fingers. “You’re so fucking wet…” The crude remark only elicits a tremulous sigh from Rachel; with a rhythm agonizingly slow, Amanda pumps the fingers steadily in and out of her, and Rachel becomes slack-jawed with pleasure, arching her back to welcome friction. Amanda coos and moves her left hand down, cupping the perky breast; her nipple stands for attention when Amanda’s palm comes into contact with the tender flesh there. Everything Amanda’s performing on Rachel is grander than magic; Rachel huffs and whines, screwing her eyes shut.

“Amanda…please…”

Rachel begs; her voice is barely recognizable as it is overrun with want and desire. Amanda stops her movement altogether, making Rachel snap her eyes open, whimpering for the loss of fullness inside her. But what happens next takes her breath away as Amanda smirks, shifting down like a predator after its prey, and plants her mouth directly on her engorged clit.

Rachel cries and jerks her hips towards Amanda’s face instinctively, her hand flying down for a fistful of Amanda’s hair to keep her in place; she hums, the vibrations making Rachel’s pulsing core ache even more, and the blood of her entire body seems to flow down as her entrance and clit throbs painfully with each and every heartbeat. The orgasm threatening to swallow Rachel, she feels the blissful pain building in her lower abdomen like a high tide; as if Amanda can read her mind, she thrusts the fingers back in forcedly with ease, curling upwards with every end of a thrust. Rachel groans and jerks her hips when she hits a particular spot that seems to unlock the knot inside of her, and Amanda relentlessly takes advantage of her new discovery while sucking on Rachel’s pulsing clitoris with ruthless fashion. The rhythmic movement makes the pit of Rachel’s stomach flip without warning as she wails out a scream of ecstasy, her walls convulsing around Amanda’s digits, so tight that Amanda can’t move her fingers; she keeps her suction on the engorged nub for Rachel to shudder through her high until she pushes her away, mewling for sensory overload. Amanda slips her fingers out of her entrance and allows herself to enjoy the last taste of Rachel’s as she leisurely slurps and licks the remaining wetness; Rachel doesn’t stop her as she lies lazily, chest heaving with content, the blissful storm that ripped through her body has transformed her to a tranquil state, as Amanda discover how cute her partner is with her droopy lids and rubbery limbs.

“Hey.”

She climbs upwards and smiles as Rachel immediately shifts to cuddle with her, tucking her head onto Amanda’s chest. Their sweaty bodies mold into each other’s perfectly, and they don’t seem to mind at all.

“Hey.”

She sounds sleepy and satisfied; although arousal still coils stubbornly in Amanda’s lower stomach, she finds this kind of comfort more invaluable than everything else—lying here with someone she loves in her arms, simply enjoying the company, is more than enough.

 

“I love you.”

 

The three words, however soft and muffled, stiffen Amanda’s body; not believing her ears nor can she look into Rachel’s eyes for validation, she inhales deeply with a thousand words, statements, remarks, sentences of promises, all floating around in her head. Yet she’s failed to grasp onto any of them, losing her ability to speak as the shock continues to possess her like a spell that can’t be lifted.

“Me too.”

She doesn’t know how long it takes for her to finally rasp out the affirmations; time has lost its meaning for Amanda as she lies in comfort with the loveliest distraction beside, her body spent with a head too fuzzy to comprehend.

But Rachel doesn’t hear her; she has already entered the state of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update...but you can rest assured: imma going to finish this!


	14. In which Rachel appreciates the development of modern technology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead!

 

 

Rachel wakes up alone on the foreign side of her bed.

She refuses to open her eyes because as soon as she stirs, what has happened last night flashes mercilessly by her closed lids. She doesn’t know how to categorize all the strayed feelings, or what she may face after accepting the rays of sunshine in the presumably late morning hours. Grudgingly, Rachel opens her eyes and let her gaze sweep across the room, half expecting some change and discovers a pile of neatly-folded pajamas by the bedside. Her nose unwillingly picks up the distinctive floral scent belonging to someone familiar—lavender, honey and a softer note of vanilla; the smell appears outlandish in her old room, but comforting.

Later on, after she showers and refreshes herself, keeping her mind blank and tugging the unruly thoughts safely away (which she fails miserably), she finds two texts that came earlier this morning.

_—Call me tonight? There are things I need to tell you_

Her heart misses a beat when she reads the first message; it comes from Amanda.

Rachel clicks open the other text with a thumb slightly shaking and her lip between her teeth.

_—I’m missing you already_

The tension that’s been building—having a lot to do with Amanda’s absence—rolls off of her shoulders. She can’t help but let her heart soar with exultation; a grin breaks out of her solemn expression, widening her pursed lips into a smile.

The second text arrives forty minutes later than the first; Rachel naturally guesses Amanda has texted her when she woke up and after she went home.

— _Sure_

She replies. And after some (or the lack of) consideration, Rachel decides she wants to act on what her heart tells her to do. _Fuck it._

— _I miss you in my bed_

After she sends out that message, she pauses for a good few seconds and breaks into fits of hysterical laughter until tears brim over her vision—her current life can’t be more bizarre. She can never wrap her head around how she met Amanda, how they’ve become so close; how Amanda’s literally having an affair with an unmarried English teacher, and how she’s going to divorce her husband when a woman ten years younger than her is solely behind her decision.

Is she?

Rachel turns off her phone, her brows knitting together again as the chip emerges on her shoulder, crushing but not yet killing her. She’s not going to let the self-depreciation get the best of her regardless of the event happening last night, and the things that will take place in the future.

 

But Rachel dares not to picture if there will be a future for her and Amanda to ride into the bitter sunset.

 

***

 

After nine hours, with her clothes and beanie smelling like stale coffee beans and milk, Rachel turns her phone on with tired eyes and a jumbled mind; most of her fellow teachers in school mock her for prepping too hard before class, and they swear _honey, when you are at my age, you wouldn’t care so much about those hormonal monsters who don’t give a damn about others_. They are dead wrong—Billy Mitman is the perfect example that high school students are downright capable of sympathy. She doesn’t care about what the others say; heart beating with golden determination, her morality which consists of solid responsibility is the compass of the course she has settled with—she’s going to do what a good teacher should do. Taking off her clothes while waiting for her phone to fully boot up, she enters the bathroom to reward herself with a long, hot shower.

 

Although there are no important notifications that require an instant reply, Rachel dries her hair with precision and quickly changes into her usual nightly attire; if she’s honest with herself, she has her mind occupied all day with the notion of Amanda, and what she’s going to tell her tonight.

And then her thoughts would inexorably gravitate towards the things they did in that midnight, forming an unbreakable vicious circle of arousing distractions. She would flush, presses her thighs together (as if the heat that grows between her legs could be contained this way), and berates herself for indulging those lustful ideas to take control when she was _working in a public place_. 

When it is almost a quarter to ten, Rachel props herself on the bed against a pillow and calls Amanda; she sits up anxiously and starts to nibble the inside of her cheek when the phone rings for what feels like an eternity.

Before she decides to hang up, the other end of the line is finally through.

“Rachel! Sorry, I was in the shower.”

Amanda sounds tired but cheerful, and Rachel can’t help but beam at the familiar voice of the woman she loves.

“It’s fine.” Some shuffling in the background tenses Rachel, “Are you alone?”

“Yeah! Oh, sorry. I’m putting you on speaker so I can put some clothes on. God it’s so cold.” That explains the sound and why Amanda seems to be caught off guard. The images of Amanda, naked, assault Rachel’s mind ruthlessly; she starts to mindlessly trace the love bites Amanda has marked on her thigh. “So, what did you do today?”

“Nothing special…just uh, teacher’s work. Previews and going over the underdeveloped essays.”

Rachel’s rich voice comes out raspy and hushed; she takes a sip of the cold water she’s left by the nightstand. “And you?” Amanda sighs as if she’s disappointed for the lack of pleasant distractions Rachel has provided, or exhausted for what she’s been brewing to say. “I am sure it’s going to be a lot more exciting than mine.”

“I talked with Chris today and made several arrangements. The good news is we’ve reached some sort of consensus.”

Rachel’s tongue grows heavy in her mouth.

“And the bad news?”

A pause.

“I’m leaving for Pennsylvania tomorrow to settle the matter once and for all. If we’re lucky, it’ll take months, but I’m not sure when I can come back.”

Her heart sinks at the heavy announcement. Rachel knows, however, despite all of the passionate declarations that have been exchanged, their consensual sex isn’t _dues ex machina_ that will magically solve the coming storm of problems and questions.

Rachel manages to say something that doesn’t make her sound like a needy, incompetent, overly-romantic fool.

“If it’s Mutual Consent, I remember it’ll only take ninety days to get it over with.”

Silence. Rachel digs her nails into her hand and wonders if she’s said anything wrong. Perhaps Amanda will think she’s being nosy.

“Wow. Someone has done their homework.”

Rachel can hear her awe and the delight over the phone; the looming tension dissipates as she grins.

“Did you know my childhood dream was being a lawyer?”

“My my…are you trying to convince me to hire you instead?”

They both chuckle.

“I read law books for entertainment for a period of time, speaking of teenage rebellions.”

Amanda laughs, and the sound she makes is so refreshing that Rachel, for the first time in her life, genuinely thanks Alexander Graham Bell (or Antonio Meucci to be fair).

“You never cease to surprise me, Stevens.” Rachel chuckles breathlessly and feels how warm her cheek is being pressed to the screen of her cool phone’s screen. A noiseless but not awkward interlude creeps into their lively conversation, adding a buzz of excitement of what’s to come despite of the gray future in store for both of them. “So…I was just wondering about the text you sent.” Rachel’s face is aflame as she shifts a little uncomfortably, aware of the arousal troubling her all day long has come back tenfold, pooling in her lower abdomen.

“Yeah?”

“I miss the sound you make when I make you come.”

Rachel’s breath hitches in her throat. _Talk about the turn of the event._ She squeezes her thighs together, and she’s glad the feeling is mutual because Amanda’s breath has shallowed audibly over the phone.

“I’ve never come so hard in my life.”

The throaty disclosure erupts from her dried mouth before she can stop to rationalize her actions. _Fuck that; two can play this game._ Amanda gulps and takes a deep breath.

“What are you wearing?”

Rachel cringes internally. Her pajamas aren’t exactly very sexy.

“Do you want me to take my clothes off for you?”

There’s a pause. All she can hear is her accelerating heartbeats and the evident astonishment on the other end of the phone.

“No. Leave your top on. But I want everything else gone.” Rachel obeys gladly with trembling hands, putting Amanda on speaker as she finishes her task with giddiness. “Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“ _Good girl._ ” The praise drips with lust and honey; Rachel mewls unabashedly. She sneaks her hand between her legs and touches her womanhood, gasping when she finds out how wet she already is. “Are you touching yourself?”

“…Yes.”

“Did I say you could do that?”

Amanda’s voice hardens. Rachel shakes her head. Then she realizes Amanda can’t see her, so she whispers a timid “No.”

“Take your hand out and pinch your nipple.” Rachel shudders at the sharp command that sends rushes down her spine, all the way to her overheated core. Her nipples are already erected when her fingers make contact with the extra-sensitive areola, and she inhales sharply. “I want you to imagine that they’re _my_ fingers, and I am punishing you, understand?”

“Yes.” Rachel is short of breath; her head is dizzy with desire and the urgent need to see and feel Amanda’s hot body hovering over her, skin on skin, her mouth whispering ungodly orders and sweet nothings into her ear. “Please…Amanda…”

“What do you want, little girl?”

In a distant corner of Rachel’s mind, she’s curious how Amanda can stay so composed, giving nothing away except for the perceptible heavy breathings; but she’s too preoccupied to care. She’s now dripping onto her mattress.

“Can I touch myself?”

Amanda swallows, and Rachel can hear the considerations and options going over her head. Whatever Amanda chooses, however cruel her commands will be, Rachel is eager to please as long as the instructions can bring her the sweet release that’s been building painfully between her legs.

“Taste yourself for me first.” Her tone is indifferent, but a slight tremor dangling at the end of the sentence gives her away; Rachel doesn’t feel being put off. The thrilling realization hit—she has the same influence on Amanda. A fire roars awake and licks up her belly, the electrical current so addictive and arousing that Rachel’s not only aware of her labored breath, but also wild vibrating of the buzz, threatening to possess her whole being and reduce her into a mere existence of animalistic pulses. Hands shaking, she follows the command and licks off the moisture, wishing if she were tasting Amanda’s fingers instead. She tries not to make a sound and failed, letting out an obscene noise close to slurping; she’s too hungry for Amanda to say anything.

Amanda chuckles throatily.

“So eager to please…I bet you taste just as good as last night when I put my fingers in you.” Rachel whimpers and clamps her thighs to relieve the impending pressure. “Open up your legs for me. Don’t you dare touch it before I say so.” Her tone comes off harsh at the command, and Rachel finds it so arousing that she sinks her nails into her creamy thigh to prevent herself from plunging her fingers into the aching wetness and fuck herself hard and fast.

“Please…” Rachel swallows, hearing how thick and raspy her voice has become; she knows how evident her desperation and dependency are. She’s clinging to Amanda’s voice to guide her across the precipice, into the light. “I need you, Amanda, please…”

_I’m so wet. I’m so fucking wet._

“Aren’t you a greedy, greedy girl?” Amanda purrs with delight as if she’s right here with her, watching her with those bewitching chocolatey eyes that promise everything Rachel wants and _more_ ; the pulses between her thighs twinge as a rush of heat starts accumulating in an embarrassingly rapid speed, ruining her mattress. “What do you want?”

Rachel’s mind blanks for a while as if she can’t possibly believe Amanda is going to grant her what she’s been lusting after.

“God I want you, Amanda. I want you to use your mouth and suck on…on my clit.” Rachel hears some fabric shuffling in the background as she continues (and later on, realizing Amanda must have had started pleasuring herself), “And I want you to put your fingers in me.”

“How many fingers?”

Amanda growls, and it confirms Rachel’s assumption because she can hear the soft rustling and labored breath on the other end of the phone. She can picture Amanda pleasuring herself now, jaw-slacked, arching her back for more contact with pain and content etched on her beautifully flushed face, droplets of sweat forming on her forehead and the column of her tender neck. Rachel imagines if she could lick them off of Amanda right now.

“Two.”

“Do it. Make your fingers nice and wet.”

Rachel’s ragged breath doesn’t stop Rachel from obeying the instruction enthusiastically; She moans and her hips jerks into the air as she plunges two fingers in her dripping entrance, digits stretching her inner walls in the perfect pressure.

But she wants more.

“M—more…I need more…”

“What do you want, baby girl?”

“Can I put three fingers inside?”

A deep inhalation, an audible gulp, and then—

“Yes, you may.” Rachel moans and obliges. “Use the other hand to play with your clit, now.”

Amanda's tone becomes hushed and impatient, and she has no intention to hide the tremor in her voice now; Rachel lets out a string of breathy mewls and pants when heavenly stimulations finally happen upon her flushed body. She knows how it will spur Amanda closer to her release.

“Yes…Amanda, you feel so good…”

“Don’t come yet. Do you hear me?”

“Yes!” Rachel tries her best to keep the coiling tension in her lower abdomen from snapping her in two. She is flamed with arousal as perspiration accumulates between the valley of her breasts. “Go faster, Rachel, I want you to say my name when you come.”

She whimpers and groans as the quivering muscles starting to tighten around her fingers.

“Ah! Fuck!”

Wetness coats her fingers as her right-hand wrist starts to give off dangerous warning of incoming cramps, but she is too far gone to prolong the pent-up release; she keeps a merciless rhythm of thrusting and curling her fingers, creating wet sinister echoes in her bedroom, and she bets Amanda can hear every shameless sound she makes. Exotic moans which don’t belong to Rachel starts to join the symphony, now reaching towards its climactic peak with dizzy, passionate notes. Unexpectedly, the aching pressure is no longer contained, ripping over Rachel’s body more forceful than ever; her abdomen muscles twitch as she rubs her clit recklessly in tight circles, chasing the moment until the tide is at its strongest, crashing down and crushes Rachel’s whole being, tipping her over the edge. She wails out Amanda’s name, snapping her head back as she contracts severely around her digits. Amanda follows suit as she comes, whimpering and gasping; they connect in a spiritual way they’ve never expected, sharing and redoubling the power of the orgasm as their souls clash and intertwine— their bodies vibrating with the same energy, their hearts beating in the exact rhythm, their breaths molding into one.

Silence curtains them into a warm embrace, then time exists no more; they are both flowing in a space where normal gravity doesn’t exist, only the inevitable force that pushes and pulls them together.

Until Rachel is being dragged back to the present with such brutality that she can almost taste iron when she nips her bottom lip.

“Amanda, I think…”

Despite she’s still drifting in a fuzzy sea of bliss and not fully free from the effect of toe-curling release, Rachel’s mind is sharp with a single thought threatening to spill out of her mouth once it seeks its master’s consent, but _of course she is hesitant_. Rachel doesn’t fully understand the imperativeness of the thing she’s about to say; she just feels how it has been brewing deep in her heart, winding her into a swirl of a chaotic mess if she didn’t do what’s crucial for the sake of their relationship.

Here she goes, crossing over that line again.

 

“I think I might…I mean I am…I love you.”

 

As soon as the stuttered confession strikes the quietness, the flavor of the air shifts significantly, shoving them tumbling towards the opposite like a sudden change of magnetic field. Rachel reaches for her phone and turns off the speaker, putting Amanda at the closest distance the situation allows, wishing desperately for her reassuring voice to reach her ear.

But the dead silence continues to extend with excruciating awkwardness.

“I know…” Finally, Amanda speaks, voice stiff as if something was holding her back, “You’ve told me when I stayed over, um, when you were about to fall asleep, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“…I have to go now. Need to catch an early flight.”

“Ok.” Speechless, Amanda is seemingly regretting to have said nothing more, but tongue-tied and too caught-up at the moment. Rachel breathes calmly into the speaker although her heart hammering in her chest has now returned to a normal rhythm—the coldest fingers are enclosing on her throat, squeezing the life out and refilling the void with sadness and disappointment. “Goodnight, then.”

Tone emptied of emotion, she doesn’t wait for Amanda’s response before she hangs up.

Crestfallen as she clutches the phone in a vice-like grip, dread sinks her unimaginably deeper. Rachel feels like watching her shell on the outside; If she had the superpower to shake herself awake, she will find her soul is no longer here.

But she’s too tired for any kind of judgment.

 

Still later that night, Rachel collapses on the bed with vodka running in her system, the amount of alcohol enough to numb her from thinking about _everything_ but not a drop more to give her a hangover.

She receives a text just before she decides to abandon her consciousness.

_—I love you, too._

Rachel smiles with exhaustion and doesn’t even bother to check who’s sent the message; she closes her eyes with content and relief. Then the hurricane of sleep triumphs over her.


	15. In which what comes around, comes around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda comes back, and they do things, O. Henry's style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a late update...hope what's in this chapter can make up for that!  
> Enjoy!

 

The first three weeks are the most painful.

But they’re both grown and fully independent women. They can survive a few months of not seeing their beloved in person. They talk once a day (often leading to embarrassingly mind-numbing, toe-curling phone-sex) and Skype on the weekends (Rachel swears now she can write a perfect article of ‘Ten Tips for having Wonderful Skype-sex.). Amanda has become something that lurks in the back of her mind—a soft, silent yearn that can never be quenched. Rachel has thought she’d be devastated of being separated (taken from her previous love history, which is sadly not much), but Amanda has a magical effect on her: Rachel hasn’t felt this steady before—this love is anchoring her at where she belongs, instead of weighing her down.

 

_Is this how it feels to find true love?_

Like her students, Rachel can’t wait for the winter break to come soon enough. After they survive the life-consuming finals (oh GOD the grading the flunking and all the dreadful stuff Rachel has to go through), then maybe, just maybe, she can fly to Pennsylvania and visit Amanda?

 

Amanda is hesitant to share her progress at first.

_“Babe, I don’t want to bother you with those awful, boring never-ending meetings.”_

_“But I want to be bothered. I can be helpful. Hey, free counseling…remember I practically memorized the divorce law in fifty states?”_

They carried on with lighthearted jokes, and the conversation had spun into a serious discussion of their fear, their past, and future goals. Rachel remembers falling asleep with heartbeats still audible in her ears, content, amazed and thrilled of how different they are, but being so alike rudimentarily. She swears she’s never had this kind of connection in her lifetime: nobody had reached into her this deep, breaking and mending her simultaneously. Amanda reignites her passion for other things in life—it’s not that she doesn’t know what to live for, because that’ll be absurd for someone like her—after those hard, long, and progressive conversations over the phone.

Rachel doesn’t change much. She still prefers to be alone, but now she learns how to be with herself without the irritating guilt. She learns the difference between alone and desolate. She no longer regards the world in remote, but watches intently at the people, at so many other vibrant things buzzing by her life.

_Carpe diem, then._

At a windless Saturday afternoon, she goes to check out an independent art fair, a faraway street corner from her flat which she ran by several mornings. Although the fair is small, the variety of designs has caught her eyes: there are tattoos, photoshoots, drawings and other creative works combining art with daily lives.

One has robbed her attention away from others once her gaze landed on them; they are a pair of golden earrings, c-shaped, elegantly carved with intricate designs.

“See somethin’ you like, miss?”

A deep voice booms from above. Rachel shoots her head up. She meets a pair of piercing green eyes of a tall, muscular man with a friendly smile; his hair is in a charismatic shade of sandy-blonde, with clean lines of asymmetrical undercut contouring both sides of his structured face.

“I’m sorry…but, have we met before?”

She speaks after the silence becomes slightly awkward. The burly man grins like a shark before Rachel has a chance to blush at her own impulsiveness.

“Rachel Stevens, eighth grade, the girl who single-handedly made the teacher cry, using The Constitution.” Her jaw drops. How can someone possibly know that…or _remember_ that? “Still doesn’t ring a bell?”

“Yes…no, no. I’m sorry. I remember that, but I just couldn’t…”

“I guess I was kind of a nobody then. Jacob Rolland Jr. Just call me Jake.”

He extends a hand and Rachel reaches out dumbly, receiving a firm handshake that almost hurts while she continues to stare at the handsome stranger. His warm hands are scarred and coarse, just like an artist.

By the power of the touch, an image of a gloomy, short thin boy with dark hair and baggy jeans jumps into her head.

“Jake?” Rachel shakes her head in disbelief. “You’ve changed…so much! Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you since…”

“Since that summer when I mysteriously disappeared, huh?”

Jacob chuckles and scratches the back of his head—he’s so tall that Rachel almost can’t see the neat little bun on top of his head.

“Me and my family moved to DC. It’s a long story, but we’d have to take a walk down the memory lane for another time. My boss ain’t going to be too thrilled to see me chatting with beautiful strangers at work.”

He winks at her, the gesture is playful but void of anything flirtatious (to Rachel’s relief). She grins back.

“So, you’ve designed all this?”

“No, no. Only this section—” He points to a wooden shelf of earrings, necklaces, and bracelets made of black steel and silver, “Is my baby, and what you’re eyeing now are the works of my partner. But she feels more like my boss.” He gives her a fake grimace and continues. “The other tables here are for our collaborative works, but please, no pressure.”

“It’s impressive. What you’re doing right now.”

Rachel answers in earnest after she let her gaze sweep over the wooden shelves and tables, then is rewarded with the gentlest smile from a man whose bicep is bigger than her face.

“Thanks. Lia would be happy to hear that, too.”

“Your partner?”

“Yeah. We’re doing this little going-around-the-US gig…” He quickly draws a business card from the other side of the table, then hands it to Rachel in a fluid fashion. “…We’re not exactly a community, but it makes more money when independent artists stick together. It’s for marketing, you know. We still gotta eat.”

“How long will you guys stay here?”

“Only for one more week, and we’ll be outta your hair.”

Rachel raises her brows, then short slender Asian woman emerges out of nowhere, standing near Jacob with a bag of Cheetos.

“Hey, hon.”

“Are you harassing this young lady?”

_Oh, an English accent._ Judging by their interactions—the closeness and the relaxed postures, Rachel comes to the conclusion that this is probably his girlfriend, _Lia_. Or wife, judging by the (numerous) rings on their fingers.

“We just found that we were actually classmates from eighth grade.”

“Small world, huh?”

Lia regards Rachel with a cool, neutral look that makes her very self-conscious, then she smiles and pops open her bag of snack. The tension dissolves as quickly as it came.

“I see you prefer my works over Jake’s, eh?”

“Don’t say that!”

Jacob protests and Lia chuckles. After a beat or two, Rachel picks up the pair of golden earrings timidly, and is surprised for the unexpected heaviness.

“It’s just exquisite! May I ask how much these are?”

Lia comes up with a price that’s worth weeks of Rachel’s salary. She tries to hide the shock, but apparently hasn’t done it well. Jacob and Lia both grin a little gloomily as they share a knowing look.

“And that’s why we’re a bunch of poor artists. The income is horribly unstable.”

She is pretty surprised of Lia’s bluntness, that she’s opening up so candidly about something private. Rachel is sure she’s wrong to think Lia is hostile.

“But since you and Jay go way back, we should give you a discount.”

Jacob’s dramatic expression is precious; Rachel laughs at the feigned surprise and the _see-how-she-always-decides-things-for-us_ on Jake’s face.

“Sure.”

He clears his throat, and offers a number, half of the original price. Rachel’s brows shoot to her hairline and she quickly refuses. She sneaks a glance at Lia’s expression, and is more stunned of the calm, almost bored look, as if Lia is used to this kind of thing to happen.

“I see now why you’re a bunch of penniless artists.”

Rachel manages a feeble joke, seeing how the couple has made up their minds.

 

Having the earrings bought and packed up in a delicate little box, Rachel still feels like dreaming. How she’s running into someone she knew fifteen years ago, and gets something from him which is worth thousands of dollars, are going to be an eternal mystery.

“We value this kinda thing. The spiritual stuff. There has to be a reason for you and I to meet each other again.”

“Now don’t go mansplaining on Rachel, will you?” Jacob opens his mouth to protest and Lia efficiently shoves four Cheetos’ cornmeal in his mouth, successfully silencing him. Rachel doesn’t know if she could laugh at their adorable interactions. “Would you like to come over to the farewell party next week? We do that in every place we stay.”

“Oh…uh, when? Here?”

“Silly you, you’re scaring her.” Jacob finally swallows the mouthful of Cheetos and grins. Lia gives him a stare that lacks real coldness. “Yes, we’re throwing a little something here next Saturday before leaving the day after that. About…um, around eight, probably?”

Lia hums with agreement, and eats her snack, precise and elegant, like a cheetah devouring its pray while she stares at Rachel. Rachel swallows. _Lia sure has a strong personality._

“Sure.”

“Picking those for your special someone?”

Rachel blinks several times at the blunt question. Jacob smiles like he’s being apologetic on Lia’s behalf, and Rachel returns a nervous chuckle. She’s being caught off-guard. Lia has just spoken her thoughts out loud.

“How do you know?”

“Your eyes. They look different when you pick them up. Call it a woman-intuition.”

Rachel’s heart beats a little faster as she recalls Amanda’s gorgeous face and the things she said the other night that made her—

“Oh dear. Look what you’ve done. She’s as red as a beet.”

“Just saying.”

 

Despite she’s more than a little afraid of Jacob’s girlfriend, and feels awkward to have to reconnect with someone in a place filled with strangers, seven days later Rachel goes to the farewell party anyways.

And as it turns out, it goes rather smoothly.

 

***

 

Rachel browses through the immature sentences and paragraph structures she’s once proud of years ago, racking her brains out to figure why her inspirations had run dry. There are almost fifty thousand words of her unfinished novel. Looking back now, she cringes at the faulty logic and notions she had. Not to mention the inconsistent tone of the main characters.

“You should read me some of that good stuff.”

“No, I will not!”

It’s been nearly two months since Amanda’s departure for the other side of the land, and Rachel needs to pinch herself from saying “I miss you” too much.

But Amanda knows. Amanda is not shy to express her affection and how much she _misses_ her, many times by saying things that do wonders to Rachel’s body.

Tonight, Amanda seems extra giddy and breathless, but Rachel doesn’t have a clue why. She’s catching that infectious excitement over the phone.

“Listen, I know you’re not exactly Austen material so I’ve already lower my expectations. Besides, not a very big fan of Pride and Prejudice anyway.”

“Well, _that’s_ a kind thing to say to a future author.”

She pretends to bristle. Some inpatient tsking instantly brims over the phone. “Oh, oh, here’s a good one. This will definitely prove I’m never going to be a serious writer.”

Rachel clears her throat and narrates in a voice too solemn and ardent.

“ _She clears her throat as a distraction and looks anywhere but him. Who could’ve pre-seen this poetic ending, oh-so tragic? Sandra tries to recognize the—_ ”

“Wait, wait,” Rachel hears the laughter bubbling beneath the surface, “Are you saying that you named your female protagonist _Sandra_?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

Rachel deadpans and Amanda bursts out laughing.

“Hey, the writing not so bad, I’d give you that.”

“Seriously? I know if I go on I’ll definitely change your mind.”

Rachel answers, a little exasperated and genuinely surprised,

“Just so you know, the rest is just as mediocre and childish. Not to mention I was desperate on telling a story, instead of letting a story unfold itself…you know what I mean?”

Amanda chuckles.

“I really think you should finish that. You sound ready, with your newfound directions.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

They fall into a comfortable silence with things brewing in their minds.

“I—” “Do you—”

Speaking at the same time, they pause and laugh hysterically. Rachel brushes her hair out of her face and adjusts herself in the bed to sit upright.

“You know I was planning to visit my parents in Florida after this whole fucking mess, right?”

“Language, missus. ‘ _Was_ ’?”

“Well, today my mom said they are quite worried about our progress, and my well-being, so she and dad are planning to come over, and stay with us for a week. They need to visit some old friends and families anyways.”

“Flying over to Pennsylvania on their own?”

“Are you insinuating my parents are too old for this kind of thing?”

Rachel grins as she multitasks, trying to do the math on why Amanda is telling her this.

“Of course not. So…”

“Which means I won’t have to spend an extra weekend down there…” Amanda stops for Rachel to figure it out. But the older woman simply can’t bottle up the glee. Her voice goes high with joy, and she continues enthusiastically. “Plus, I’ve told you before that Chris had pulled some strings to quicken the process. I got wind that a friend of ours has managed to speed it up. So, I can go back to California after two weeks, tops.”

Rachel blinks. Her mind has just exploded.

_She’s going to see her beloved in just another fourteen days._

“Well for god sakes say some—”

“I can’t wait, really, I…” Rachel’s voice comes out rasp and shaky. She swallows, takes a deep breath and tries again. “…I miss you, badly.”

A tear rolls down her hot cheek, her emotions no longer bottled. Now she feels really stupid to cry—how old is she? Fucking three?

“I miss you too, honey.” Amanda’s voice is quiet and deep, filled with love and affection. Rachel sniffles into the phone, and relaxes as she wipes off the tears with a weak chuckle. “Please don’t cry, you know I cry every time you cry. I’ll let you know as soon as I get the good news.”

“…Ok.”

“I bought you a little something—” Rachel’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. What kind of coincidence is this? _The Gift of the Magi_? “—Oh shit, I’ve another call; who the hell is calling at this hour of the night?”

“Me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, honey. You know how happy I get every time you call me.”

Rachel’s heart flows with love and warmth at the nickname and the admission.

“You should probably take that.” She clears her throat again, feeling guilty for being nervous so quickly. “Uh, I love you.”

“I love you more. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

Then she flings herself recklessly on the bed, a wide and stupid grin blooming on her face. Turning the lamp off, her rambling thoughts have only bothered her for a second; she practically falls asleep when her head hits the pillow.

_…Pallidly neat, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn…I’m just incurably forlorn for love. In love._

 

***

 

The classroom is quiet with an uneasy buzz. The tension is made up of sounds, those specifically belonging to big exams: pens scratching papers, audible nervous breathings, and the occasional clatters when someone fails at spinning their pens, their palms sweaty or fingers too rigid to cooperate.

Rachel observes from her seat in the back of the classroom, feeling the unnerving energy threatening to pass off on her. She’s done it a million times before, invigilating, but this time seems to be different…she can’t tell why, neither can she can’t recall when she starts to fidget, picks at her nails, or rubbing her temples to soothe the impending ache beneath her skull.

Something is about to happen, and Rachel knows it.

Absentmindedly, she checks the clock again, and is almost infuriated by how time seems to stay immobile, like she’s stuck in a different dimension. Only another forty minutes till break, then she can go home and use the rest of her afternoon to finish up school reports.

Her eyes skim through the lines of the novel she’s reading: _Room_ —a book being recommended by Goodreads—but none of the words makes sense. Rachel huffs and turns on her cell phone.

She blinks as her mouth runs dry.

There was several missed call and messages, all coming from Amanda, saying she’s arriving _today_.

Rachel’s whole face aflame with excitement. She restricts herself painfully in her seat from rushing out the room to call Amada right away; instead, she types with her trembling fingers, and tells Amanda she’s having a final, consequently turning the Do Not Disturb mode on. Amanda texts back almost immediately, saying she knows, and that’s why she’s only called once.

Rachel’s heart warms at the thoughtfulness that she actually remembers.

 

_—Wanna come over;)_

 

After some flirty messages, she stares at the edge of the screen, not knowing what to reply. Then another one comes.

 

_—I miss you_

 

That makes Rachel decide she’s going straight to Amanda’s place right after school. Papers and reports be damned.

 

***

 

A brunet opens the door, then welcomes her with an enthusiastic “hi” and a crushing hug. Feeling the giant belly, Rachel’s eyes widen at the shocking resemblance the brunet bears with Amanda. But she’s shorter. Her mouth is wider and her hair is longer, with eyes gleaming in a lighter brown, and she gives off a kind of jittery energy that’s opposite of Amanda.

She makes an instantaneous guess that she’s the younger sister.

“Yes!” She grins. “I’m Tilda. Excuse my manners for not introducing myself first; the pregnancy and the hormones must’ve gotten me confused. You must be Rachel! Amanda talks about you _all_ the time. C’mon in!”

Rachel dares not to interrupt the passionate monologue as she follows and walks into Amanda’s house. For a very pregnant lady, Tilda sure walks fast.

 

The spacious living room is of mild decoration, but not monotonous: Rachel has to say, whoever does the indoor décor has a bold taste. Although everything is in order, in the color of gray, black, white and blue—very un-Amanda—the room is filled with ornaments that are daring and sparkling, like the wild pot of cactus on the table, or the silvery, celestial dreamcatcher in the corner.

The lack of paintings deepens Rachel’s suspicion, that Amanda isn’t in charge of this floor at all; she once told Rachel, that she’s obsessed seeing framed things on a wall. Rachel lets her gaze trail all the way to the edge of the room, with the sun filtering through the white shutter into the room, adding touches of warmth and color, making the atmosphere less…reposed.

 

That’s why things are weird. Where’s her girlfriend?

 

“I was kind of a housekeeper of this place. I set up most of the things here. You see, Amanda is really bad at cooking, and she rarely uses the first floor.”

Rachel gives her a knowing smirk, and she carries on animatedly. Rachel is pretty sure Tilda has the energy for two.

“If you go to the second floor, you’ll see the difference between her taste and mine. We’re the exact opposite.”

While Tilda takes her breath, Rachel seizes her chance to talk.

“Yeah…when I first met Amanda, I thought she’d be into this kind of style, too.”

“Turns out she’s quite different than how she looks, huh? We get that a lot. After people talk to us, they’ll think she’s the older one, but after some time they change their minds.”

Tilda winks at Rachel playfully.

“How do you think so far?”

“I…”

“Oh! And Amanda is on the second floor! Don’t know if she’s showering though…maybe you can help her unpack?”

“Sure—”

“Great! You should go up to her room! It’s the second room after you go up the stairs! I’ll make some lemon juice, I actually want some of ‘em, too.”

“Okay—”

“Have fun!”

Then Rachel sees a very pregnant brunet practically hops to the kitchen with excitement, leaving her standing in the middle of the living room, slightly overwhelmed.

 

Five minutes later, Rachel successfully makes her way to the second floor, the journey long enough to prepare her for a change of scenery, with cool wooden handrails and a spiraling staircase. Her sneakers scuttle with the floor, the sound so out of place that it pulls her into a fragment of memory. Tenth grade, high summer’s evening, when she had to sneak out of her secret girlfriend's house before her parents went home. She was caught, questioned, and being let go; poor Laura, though. She was forced not to cut ties with Rachel after the whole YA drama. Laura Clementine Parker wasn’t that a good liar.

It’s funny to recall anyone or anything nowadays. People are all too preoccupied with what they think is important, and never slows down, or spare time for what is real.

Rachel stands in front of the instructed, should-be-Amanda’s-bedroom room and knocks.

“Amanda?”

Receiving zero response, against her better judgment, she trains her slightly-clammy palm on the cold wooden handle, twists, and goes into the room.

Paintings, big and small, hang on the wall in harmony. Instead of the pallid shutter downstairs, Rachel sees a window curtain, tailored-pleat and fold-up, in a lovely shade between dirty-beige and white, making the room homey and friendly. The luggage is in disarray, and one of the suitcases is opened (which Rachel tries not to inspect further because she has the wildest speculation—if Amanda is in the shower now, that must be the one with all of her clothing, including the _personally intimate_ ones).

The sound of water gives away Amanda’s whereabouts, confirming her sister’s guess. Rachel drops her bag on the marble floor and sits in front of her immaculate desk, which features nothing except for a sharpened-pencil, a classy paperweight that’s more of an ornament than its purpose, and Amanda’s leather handbag.

Knowing she’s in the same space with her beloved has smoothened Rachel’s mood. She takes out the unfinished novel and starts to read.

 

The bathroom door swings open; before Rachel can remember when the shower has stopped, a very flushed, moist-haired blond with bathrobes tied loosely around her petite body greets her with a startled yelp.

“I’m…I’m sorry…your sister, she told me to go to your room…”

Rachel trails off as she loose herself into those amazing coffee browns, more absorbing and entrancing than before, now staring at her with realization and exultation. _Is it possible for someone to be more beautiful after two months?_

_“Rachel.”_

Amanda shakes her head in disbelief, grinning. Rachel beams; she almost forgets how wonderful it sounds when Amanda says her name. She comes over to Rachel, and gives her the most liberating, heart-lifting and warm (also humid) hug. Rachel relaxes in the scent of rose and musk, burying her face in Amanda’s neck.

“God! It’s been too long already! How is it possible that you become cuter...”

She detangles from their first embrace since reuniting, and cups Rachel’s blushing face in her hands, smiling affectionately at the long-haired woman. Amanda seems to be taking in all of Rachel’s features to prove she’s become more adorable.

“…while I’m gone?”

Rachel’s lashes flutter downwards bashfully, and then as she reconnects her gaze with the older woman, something in her eyes harden.

Maybe it’s the heat and the fresh shampoo, or the water dripping from Amanda’s hair that accidentally dampens Rachel’s jeans, or Rachel has flickered her gaze to the droplet of water on Amanda’s lips—in that simultaneous instant, they surge forward for each other’s mouth. Rachel grasps Amanda’s frail forearms, and slides one hand to her cheek, caressing the warm, soft skin as their kiss escalates. At some point, they find themselves in a very compromised position when they break apart for air—Amanda sitting on top of her with hands sneaking under Rachel’s blouse. Rachel is busy taking advantage of the situation, leaving a trail of hot kisses on Amanda’s alabaster shoulder because the robe is loose.

“Mandy darling! Rachel!”

Tilda’s voice hollered from outside. They have approximately five seconds to break apart and look decent enough for Amanda’s sister to open the room.

Tilda immediately knows she’s in the middle of something. Amanda clears her throat uncomfortably as she adjusts the robe, with Rachel squirming in her seat, face pink.

“Oooh! I just want to say the lemonade is ready in the freezer. Need to take off ‘cause Hector needs me home or he’s going to, you know, explode from panic or something. I suppose you lovebirds don’t need me for the um, _unpacking_ , huh?”

Tilda smirks while her sister throws the sharpest death-glare at her direction.

“Tell Hector I say hi.”

“I will! Get some rest, sis. Oh and Rachel!” Rachel snaps her glance to meet Tilda’s eyes, now gleaming with mischievousness. _Uh oh._ “Go easy on Amanda.”

She winks at Rachel, who’s very, very flushed with embarrassment (and arousal). Amanda stares incredulously at her sister.

“What the—”

“Bye-bye now!”

The women watch in awe and silence, as a heavily pregnant lady prances out of the room.

 

“See, even your sister thinks I’m the top.”

Rachel says flippantly. Pretending to be exasperated, Amanda smacks her forearm playfully.

“Don’t get into _that_ with me now, Stevens. Not today when it’s my first day back.”

“Hmm…why don’t you prove it, huh?”

Rachel stands up slowly, and drags a finger from the column of Amanda’s neck, down towards her cleavage. Amanda’s pupils are dilated with her lips parting slightly. She knows Amanda secretly loves to see this side of her, as much as she enjoys calling Amanda “mistress”. Oh yes, they’ve been experimenting _a lot_ on the phone. And Skype.

Her thoughts are written all over her face; Amanda laughs breathily and catches Rachel’s hands.

“Honey…I want to give you something first.”

She presses a kiss on the palm of Rachel’s hand, the gesture intimate and somehow, makes Rachel blush.

“The one you talked about on the phone?”

“Yep.”

They share a loving gaze as if they can’t believe they’re finally together after all of the things that happened.

“There might be a small problem though.” Endearingly, Amanda nibbles on her bottom lip with a light frown, and Rachel laughs to herself that her girlfriend has caught her bad habit when she was across the country. “I might have forgotten where I’ve put it.”

“Is this some kind of trick to make me help you unpack?”

“Maybe.”

She smirks, and Rachel leans forward to press a short yet sweet kiss on her lips.

“Oooh. Lucky me.”

Amanda looks at her, starry-eyed with affection, their foreheads leaning towards each other. Rachel smiles cheekily and says, “I’m going to collect more of this if I didn’t find my present.”

“Can’t wait.”

 

Ten minutes later, Amanda catches Rachel being extremely flushed while pretending she is fine. Rather, pretending she doesn’t want to un-see what’s been seen.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

“I thought it was the present you talked about…then when I opened the bag…”

Amanda abandons her lotion and walks closer to the crouching woman.

“Oh. _That_.”

In her shorts and an old Guns N' Roses t-shirt, Amanda kneels beside Rachel.

Then her body turns a little frigid as well. With the air settling after Amanda’s action, they find themselves looking at a black vibrator, lying almost innocently inside the suitcase, alongside other trinkets and makeup products cordially.

Amanda clears her throat as she reaches for the toy, gets up, and put it into the drawer of her nightstand, all done in her best casualness. Then she swirls around and meets Rachel’s eyes steadily.

“If you want to use it, I wouldn’t mind.” Rachel’s jaw drops. Amanda purrs, “But preferably, I’d rather see how it goes…” Amanda approaches Rachel to stand right behind her, leans, and whispers right next to her ears, “…When I use it on you.”

Rachel stifles a whimper. Amanda’s lotion smells like lavender and honey, a familiar scent that makes Rachel almost angry, that she hasn’t been granted more.

“Keep on looking. At least we now know it’s not in that suitcase.”

 

“Hon! I found it!”

Just another ten minutes, with Amanda joining the unpacking front, they’ve successfully conquered all of the suitcases and bags. Rachel has pulled her hair into a messy ponytail; although she’s told her girlfriend multiple times, that she needs to go and blow-dry her hair lest she catches a cold, Amanda is as obstinate and mischievous as she remembers. Every time Rachel hints something like that, Amanda comes near and pretends to dry her hair on Rachel’s clothes.

Rachel gets up expectantly, and walks towards Amanda, who’s standing with a paper box in her hands. The box is not very big, nor does it look extravagant or showy.

“Open it.”

A small smile making its way up her face, Amanda hands over the box to Rachel. The black inked, boldfaced words read: LE LABO, with a line of smaller words below that says: GRASSE—NEW YORK.

Rachel finds the white sticker sealing the box already has a clean cut in the middle of the gap; she raises her brows before Amanda explains hurriedly, a little nervous, “I needed to check if it was intact. God knows how rough they usually handle the shipments…”

She trails away, monitoring every reaction from Rachel. Her angelic face is in awe and she can see Rachel is holding her breath.

In Rachel’s view, a bottle of perfume lays elegantly in the box, with the same style of font that reads MUSC 25. Despite how peaceful the whole box of design seems, its existence stirs the air, forcing Amanda to hold her breath as well. She can’t tell what Rachel is thinking as she picks the bottle up the in her hands, and inspects it thoroughly, her movements careful and gentle.

“It reminds me of you.”

The words come rushing out of Amanda’s mouth, and Rachel meets her gaze calmly, expression kind and pensive. Amanda carries on without faltering, “I was planning on buying something for myself, and after I tried it in the airport I immediately fall in love with it.”

Heat rushes to settle on her face, and it affects Rachel until there is pink touching her cheeks also. Amanda wets her lips and swallows.

“The smell makes me think of you. It was not sold in Pennsylvania, though. I had to order it on eBay.”

She makes a face. Rachel gives her a toothy grin as sweet as a toffy, that melts in Amanda’s heart, giving her the warmth and reassurance better than a sugar-high.

“Thank you.”

Rachel says quietly, sincere and touched as she looks at the earrings with affection.

“You wanna try?”

She gives Amanda a half-smile, almost seductive but too cute to be so, and hands Amanda the emptied case. She puts the box on the bed in a haphazard fashion, watching from the corner from her eye, as Rachel tries her ways with the bottle, then finally successes.

She sprays the perfume on her pulse point, and dabs both of her wrists together. Amanda raises her brows approvingly. Although she knows rubbing one’s wrists together would somehow sabotage the molecules whatsoever, she still chooses convenience over grace.

Closing her eyes, Rachel raises her hand next to her face, letting the warm scent envelope her, welcoming her with musk, cedar, rose and something mystically special that reminds her of…of—

 

“ _Amanda_.”

 

Amanda blinks. Rachel slowly opens her eyes, disbelief and bashfulness coloring her face; Amanda shakes her head slightly, a little nervous but eager, and chokes out, “What?”

“This reminds me of _you_.”

Then the long-haired goddess beams, and Amanda forfeits all of her doubts and questions, then wonders if she’s never seen the sun until now…or in fact, she’s never heard a choir because at this moment, she swears she can hear angels singing along in Rachel’s voice.

“Oh wait! I’ve got something for you too!”

Rachel jumps, as Amanda watches in amusement, _sprints_ over to her bag, putting the perfume aside and digs out a paper bag.

“You went home first? You come bearing gifts?”

“Yeah.” She smiles unsurely and shifts in her stance. Amanda is touched beyond words. “Here. Open it.”

“Ok, don’t be bossy.”

“You love it.”

“I do… _wow_.”

In front of Amanda, a pair of golden earrings rest in slumber, moon-shaped, with elaborate designs, dedicatedly put in a dainty wooden box. As soon as Amanda touches the material for a better study, the earrings seem to come alive in her palms. They’re weighty and exceptional; Amanda doesn’t know what to say as the golden pieces tremble in her hand—or are her hands trembling because of the love she feels?

After a beat, she finally says with a shaky exhalation, “Rachel, this is beautiful. Thank you.”

Rachel blushes and visibly relaxes.

“You want to…try it on?”

“Sure.”

Rachel watches as Amanda continues to stare at her present, an intrigued smile blossoming on her face. The smile has flourished and rejuvenated not only Amanda, but also Rachel and their universe. Rachel’s stomach flutters as she makes a silent swear: no matter how far they’ll go, how far they’re apart, she’ll make sure Amanda has her, and she Amanda.

 

_“No.”_

 

Amanda frowns as Rachel’s outburst and turns around, a little startled.

“Go dry your hair first.”

Amanda chuckles, “No I will not!”

“Yes, you will!” Rachel smirks as she goes forward, trying to pry the box from Amanda’s hand.

Then she paused, face solemn.

Amanda freezes at Rachel’s sudden change of demeanor.

“Are you ticklish?”

Judging by the horror on her girlfriend’s face, the answer has been officially confirmed. Rachel laughs to herself as she attacks Amanda’s side, her thin t-shirt doing no good at protecting her sensitive spots.

“Jesus! Rachel stop! I swear to god!”

After futile retaliations and half-hearted protesting, with shrieks and laughter echoing in their ears, Rachel finds herself straddling on top of Amanda, her hands efficiently pinned above (thanks to the workouts, Rachel thinks). Breaths labored and cheeks red, the comedic situation has taken a foreseeable turn. It’s only fair because they haven’t been able to touch each other in two months’ torture.

Amanda gulps as she sees how Rachel’s eye darkened.

“Very well then…” Rachel pries the box and the earrings out of Amanda’s hand with ease, because she seems hypnotized by the sudden change of Rachel's persona.

Rachel discards the things nearby lazily. The calculated distance will not be causing any inconvenience for their activities at hand. “I guess you’re just trying to prove yourself a very _bad_ girl, aren’t you?”

“What if I am?”

Amanda stares defiantly at Rachel, chin raised with her breath quickening. Rachel smirks with satisfaction, then she climbs off of her, leaving a puzzled blond on the bed.

“Hey, where…”

Amanda never has the chance to finish her sentence, because Rachel is taking her time enjoying her moment, as she opens the drawer at a deliberate pace.

 

“Then I suppose we should try the second gift that’s mine, right?”

 

Amanda has no objections to that.

 

 

_~fin~_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to see more of Sarah and Lily together on screen! Ryan, please give us what we want in season 10...  
> Thank you for your love and support; I couldn't have finished this without you!❤️  
> p.s. I did some googling, and it said that Sarah Paulson is known for wearing the perfume called Le Labo Musc 25. Though I know it's probably for advertising and the info is most likely to be fake and inaccurate, screw that. Rachel deserves something Sarah might like...or is it Lily who deserves it???
> 
> I don't know anymore, guys. I've given this all, that's why I've gone insane.


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